


Tyler's Notebook (We're All Broken People)

by notquitepunkrock



Series: And One Time... [7]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: (both at once oops), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And no one is straight, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Drug Use, F/F, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, How Do I Tag, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Literally every chapter is angst im sorry about that, LynZ is everyone's big sister, M/M, No One Is Okay, Not Beta Read, Not apologizing for my ships tho, Past Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Triggers, Underage Drug Use, Wow that makes this sound terribly sad, more as they apply, thats a lot of AU tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/notquitepunkrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But something about that book interested me, and after Josh left I found myself peeking through the pages again. By the time the sun had risen, I had dug a notebook out of one of my boxes and placed it on my desk with a pen. I knew how to write songs now – I had taken AP Music Theory to fill up my schedule as a senior, and that had been one of our assignments. I was better at both piano and ukulele, and I had a pretty good understanding of a lot of other instruments from hanging around the musical bunch I called my friends. I could write again. I just needed inspiration."</p><p>Tyler Joseph writes songs for his friends, who he's seen struggle through more than he could ever explain. </p><p> </p><p>A series of (kinda sad) interconnecting one-shots chronicling the lives of teenaged nerds, set in my series 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Addict With a Pen

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so this is the first chapter of my (slight ambitious) sort of multichap thing for the 'And One Time...' 'verse-series-thing that I've got going here.  
> First off, these will be like one-shots, but def. not in the same format as the previous ones in the series. Each chapter will be a character's story, inspired (sometimes only barely) by a TOP song. I was going to write a full-fledged story with a plot and everything, and I got about three chapters into it before I decided I hated it and got way too confused with all the characters, so that got trashed. This is what you get instead.  
> This first chapter is a sort of intro, prologue type thing. All other chapters will be in third person, but this is in Tyler's point of view.  
> [Playlist for this fic on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7Zo_HUJmILa6D5mFE1nI5R9Ml5bFnBAU)
> 
>  
> 
> Please don't hate this. Thank.
> 
> Title from Screen by Twenty One Pilots

**Addict With A Pen (Tyler)**

As a kid, I had never been particularly good with talking. I tended to hide behind Josh, who was eager to talk enough for the both of us. (“Anything to make you happy,” he would tease, though I never knew how much he meant it until much later.)

One thing I had gotten good at because of this, however, was writing. I wrote everything, because that was the only way for me to get things out. Other people would talk it out, or paint, or even just scream, but I wrote. After a while, I turned to writing songs, which, given the fact that I play the piano and ukulele, was not a surprising transition.

However, after a while, I set down my songbook. When asked why, I claimed that Ryan and Brendon and Pete and Gerard and Frank could write a million times better than I could, so why should I even bother? Josh tried to talk me out of it, but my mind was made up. It seemed that my writing career was over at the tender age of thirteen.

Until I moved out, that is.

It was a few days before I would leave for college. (Or, well, move across town for college, anyway.) Josh and I had found an apartment that we could rent for cheap, in the same building as Frank, Ray, Mikey, and Gerard, and I was packing up my room so I would be ready to move in the next morning.

“What’s this?” I asked out loud when I found a notebook under my bed. I must have looked ridiculous, with my butt in the air, and my entire torso squeezed into the small space that I hadn’t fit in for years. Luckily, Josh hadn’t said anything about it, other than a comment about how good my ass looked that made me blush.

“What’s what?” Josh asked, sounding amused. I began a slow sort of wiggle backwards until I finally emerged from the abyss under my bed, clutching a small black journal. I peered at it with a frown as Josh walked over to me, sitting beside me on the floor. “Isn’t that your old songbook?”

I cracked open the cover and raised my eyebrows. Josh was right – my sloppy seventh grade handwriting covered the pages, with markings to denote choruses and verses and bridges. Under a lot of the lyrics were notes or chords, clearly a much younger me’s attempt to seem like I knew what I was doing. I remembered this time, though, and I know I had no clue how to really write music.

“Some of this isn’t too bad,” Josh said after we flipped through the pages for a while. “A little immature, but you were like twelve so,” he grinned at me, “I guess it can be forgiven.”

I grimaced at him. “It’s really bad,” I said, snapping the book shut. “I can see why I stopped.”

But something about that book interested me, and after Josh left I found myself peeking through the pages again. By the time the sun had risen, I had dug a notebook out of one of my boxes and placed it on my desk with a pen. I knew how to write songs now – I had taken AP Music Theory to fill up my schedule as a senior, and that had been one of our assignments. I was better at both piano and ukulele, and I had a pretty good understanding of a lot of other instruments from hanging around the musical bunch I called my friends. I could write again. I just needed inspiration.

I didn’t have to wait long.

The next morning, Brendon and Josh came by to help me load my things into a small moving van – because there was no way my desk and bookcase, along with Josh’s, would fit into any of our tiny cars, and the three of us set out to go grocery shopping for the first time with our parents’ money.

It seemed like only a matter of seconds before a gaggle of teenagers and young adults appeared on our doorstep with smiles on their faces and bags in their hands to help us settle in. The next day, Josh and I were heading to Ikea with our parents to buy furniture – part of the deal had been that we would pay rent by ourselves if they helped pay for furnishings. However, for now we had two desks and two small bookcases to set up, clothes and food to unpack.

It didn’t take too long with everyone helping, and soon we were all settled on the floor in front of Josh’s television, curled up in sleeping bags and blankets. I looked around at all of my friends, noting the way Mikey held his arms against his chest protectively, Patrick hung back from the crowd beside Pete, and Brendon and Spencer still left a space between them out of habit.

I dug my notebook and pen out of my backpack beside me, flipping to the first page and smoothing my hands over the clean lines. I had found my inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Dallon Weekes


	2. Ode to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I swear I heard demons yelling,  
> those crazy words they were spelling.  
> They told me I was gone, they told me I was gone.  
> …  
> Why won’t you let me go?  
> Do I threaten all of your plans?  
> I’m insignificant."
> 
> (Ode to Sleep)
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikies, this one is eh. However, I've literally never written about Dallon before so... this was an adventure. However! Cute 12 y/o Brendon is great. I love him. I want 10. (ALso this is really short - a little over 2k - I promise that the next one is a lot longer.)
> 
> Also, thanks to HeartOfDarkness123 for the idea (like forever ago) for something about Dallon's self-depreciation.
> 
> Trigger Warnings for: self-hatred/deprecation, slight homophobic language, and slight internalized homophobia.  
> Also 14 y/o has a crush on 12 y/o but idk what to call that or if it's /necessarily/ bad/.

Brendon groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me that middle school was this hard?” he complained, spinning in his chair so he was no longer looking at the math homework that he had been fighting with for the past hour.

Dallon shrugged, reaching across the table to ruffle the smaller boy’s hair. (This, of course, earned him a glare.) “You never asked,” he laughed. “Anyway, it could be worse - you could be me.” He laughed humorlessly, hoping it would cover the emptiness filling his chest and the sincerity in his words.

A frown worked its way onto Brendon’s face, but Dallon rolled his eyes and shot him a smile, so it quickly evaporated. “What’s wrong with being you?” he asked, unable to _quite_ let the jibe slide.

“Everything,” Dallon replied, wearing a poker face that could rival Mikey’s. When he saw the look Spencer gave him from Brendon’s side, he rolled his eyes again, running a hand through his dark hair. “Come on guys, I’m joking.”

He let out a small sigh of relief as they shrugged and turned back to their homework. He silently thanked God for that. They had enough stress, as he remembered sixth grade was the hardest year of middle school. The fact that he pretty much hated everything about himself seemed minuscule in comparison, yet he knew that Brendon and Spencer would make it a huge deal if he let them.

Dallon didn’t quite miss the way Spencer watched him from the corner of his eye after that, face contorting with each self-deprecating joke he cracked, but he didn’t say anything to Brendon. For that, Dallon was thankful.

The self-hate continued, and Dallon’s jokes became harsher and more frequent. It was easy enough to brush off, however, and his friends were soon laughing along as the words “ugly” and “stupid” and “boring” and “lame” slipped off his tongue. On the one hand, it felt good, like his thought were being justified. On the other, he was steadily becoming more and more paranoid that they were laughing because they agreed, that they could see right through his act. This scared him, making him feel so much worse.

Somehow, it became routine for him to stare into the mirror each night and vocally pick at his flaws before he could go to bed. It was a habit that he had picked up from Patrick, that Pete and Andy and Joe were constantly reminding him was unhealthy, and that he needed to stop, both for himself and so the younger kids wouldn’t pick it up. Dallon had started doing it, however, which he found funny as he was actually older than Patrick.

Tonight was no different, barring the fact that Brendon was over. He had to be careful not to take too long in the bathroom, lest Brendon get suspicious and begin to worry, and a worried, suspicious Brendon was perhaps the most terrifying thing in the world, barring an apocalypse or maybe an angry Patrick Stump.

“Stupid,” he muttered as he changed, pulling his shirt over his head. Once his arms and chest were bare, he glared at the reflection in the mirror. “And, God, you’re so annoying. Probably, no one likes you. They all hate you. Who wouldn’t though, you ugly dumbass. You can’t even pass Geometry.”

(If Brendon and Spencer and Ryan were listening, they would point out that Dallon was in _high school_ Geometry, a class usually taken by sophomores, and he was just in eighth grade. Dallon’s shoulders would slump and his arms would cross and he’d ignore the sixth graders because what would _they_ know.)

He had to leave then, as he hard Brendon pacing in the hall in front of the bathroom, tired of waiting for his older and taller friend to finish his turn. Dallon pasted a smile onto his face and flashed at the younger boy as he slipped past him to head to the bedroom. As Brendon disappeared into the now-vacant bathroom, Dallon’s feet carried him to his full-length mirror hanging from his closet door, where he eyed his shirtless reflection with contempt.

“You’re so ugly,” he hissed, poking at his stomach with a frown. Any bystander would think he was talking to his worst enemy rather than himself, what with the poisonous way each would dripped from his lips and curled around his ankles, seeping into his smooth skin. “So fucking flabby, too - grow some muscle, you nerd. You spend so much time playing guitar, not enough doing things that actually _matter._ Though, that would be okay, if you were actually good… which you _aren’t._ What the hell is your chin doing? And your hair. Jesus, learn how to tame that shit. No wonder no one likes you, you look like garbage, and you’re so unimportant and unnecessary.”

Dallon carried on like this, even though he was on the verge of tears. He was so caught up in his own self-hatred, spitting derogatory terms at himself, that he didn’t notice Brendon listening quietly at the door. (Even though the younger boy had wince and sucked in a gasp as the word ‘fag’ slid from Dallon’s mouth.)

Finally, though, Brendon couldn’t take it anymore, running into the room, tears flowing freely from his brown eyes. He tackled Dallon with a hug and buried his face in his chest, wetting it with his tears.

“Why would you say that stuff?” he asked, finally pulling away. Dallon took the opportunity to wipe at his face. Brendon’s lower lip trembled, and he gave the biggest puppy eyes imaginable. Dallon’s heart ached just a bit as he looked away. (No, he didn’t have a crush, not on _Brendon._ The kid was only twelve. It would be so _wrong._ )

“Because it’s true,” he replied, not looking at Brendon. He couldn’t see how he would react, be it hurt or agreeing with everything that Dallon had said. A tear slipped from his eyes, but he quickly wiped it away.

“It’s not,” Brendon pouted, running a hand through his hair. “Why would you say it is?”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Bren,” he muttered, pushing the boy away from him. “You finish with whatever, I’ll go set up the movie.”

Brendon’s hand reached up to grab Dal’s hand, but the older boy darted away, leaving him on the floor of the bedroom. He frowned, digging into his pocket to pull out his phone. He sent a text to as many people he could cram into a group chat. Once he was satisfied with the chat’s outcome, he pulled himself from the floor and stumbled down to the living room.

Dallon was curled up in the corner of the couch, watching as the menu screen for the first Hunger Games movie played on the television. Brendon crossed the room in a few quick strides, and pressed play on the movie. He pushed Dallon over until there was room beside him, and wormed his way into the older boy’s arms.

“What are you doing, Bren?” Dallon asked, frowning down at him.

Brendon smiled brightly at him. “I’m making you feel better, duh,” he said with a shrug. His eyelids drooped a little, giving away how tired he was, though he was pretty clearly denying that. “Is it working?”

Dal shrugged, pulling Brendon a little tighter to his side. He couldn’t deny the fact that the younger boy was helping him feel less awful. They fell asleep this way, long before Katniss even set foot in the arena for the first time.

* * *

Dallon frowned as a piece of paper fell out of his Geometry binder, floating to the bottom of his locker. He picked it up, peering at the vaguely familiar scrawl that covered the page. _You’re rocking this class!”_ it read, in a neat handwriting that began to look more and more like Gerard’s. But how on Earth would a note written by Gerard end up in his Geometry binder?

He went to throw the ridiculous note away, but then he noticed the note on the back of the paper. This was written in Mikey’s handwriting, a little messier than his older brother’s. “ _You’re so smart, Dal! - Mikeyway”_

Dallon frowned, but he decided to put the paper up in his locker using one of the silly, smiling magnets that Brendon and Spencer had bought for him when he started middle school. The paper looked a little odd in the otherwise bare locker walls, but it made him smile a little. He supposed that was the point.

More notes appeared in the oddest places, at the strangest times. He had a substitute hand him a note from Ray, complimenting his musical abilities. A note from Patrick informed him that he was hilarious, and one from Pete reminded him that acting self-confident was the first step to loving himself. Brendon’s notes made him the happiest though, telling him how he was kind and cute, each one listing one random small thing that he thought was great. Each of his friends’ notes was put up in his locker, until he ran out of room on the door and shelf. They were stuffed into his binders’ covers and pinned to his bedroom wall, and yet, more seemed to appear from nowhere.

The strangest note was from Spencer. While the contents were relatively normal, the note had been underneath his blankets when he went to bed one night - when no one had been to his house in a week, let alone the boy in question. It informed Dallon that he was _“the coolest of cool nerds and the best sort-of big brother that [Spencer] could ask for.”_ The note warmed his heart, and he pinned it in a place of honor above his guitar, right next to three of Brendon’s sweetest messages.

About a month after the notes started, there was a pep rally at the middle school. The gym was supposed to be sectioned off by grade level, with the smallest grade, seventh, on metal bleachers on the stage instead of those that were built into the wall. Brendon was supposed to stay on the far side of the gym with the rest of the tiny sixth-graders, away from the rowdiness that was pretty much everyone in Dallon’s year.

Yet somehow, here he was, wiggling his way around people and engulfing Dallon in a huge hug. Ryan and his friend Jon followed behind, tripping over people that Brendon had magically avoided, and leaving apologetic smiles in their wake.

“Did you get the notes?” Brendon asked, as if he hadn’t seen the many papers covering nearly every inch of bare metal in Dallon’s locker. The older boy nodded, and went back to helping Pete attempt to get Patrick, Frank, Mikey, and Joe’s attention from across the gym. “Did you like them? Did they make you smile?”

Ryan rolled his eyes at his friend. “Of course he liked them,” he said, turning to Jon. “You would like them too, right?”

“Duh,” Jon scoffed, stretching his arms and nearly whacking a rather large boy in the face. He pressed himself a little closer to his friends as the older kid glared, clearly not happy to see a sixth-grader in the midst of eighth grade revelry. “Guys, maybe we should, um, go back to our side of the gym.”

“No, hold on, Dal hasn’t answered yet,” Brendon snapped, waving a hand. He peered up at his friend with a hopeful look, and Dallon tried to ignore the way his stomach squeezed and his heart fluttered at the sight. _He’s twelve,_ he reminded himself. _You’re fourteen._

“I loved them,” he replied honestly, wrapping one arm around Brendon’s shoulders in an awkward sort of side hug. “They helped a lot - they still do. I read them every day. Was it your idea?  
When Brendon nodded excitedly, his smile grew. “Thank you, Bren,” he grinned, running a hand through his brown hair.

He wasn’t lying, either. The notes made him feel a lot better, though words that hurt like knives and punches still crossed his mind, and he still took everything his classmates said about him to heart. Some days he wanted to stay in bed and cry, too disgusted by himself to even think about gracing the rest of the world with his presence. However, this he wouldn’t say out loud, not when Brendon was smiling up at him with his big brown eyes and giggling behind his hand. These thoughts made him wince, because not only was he a _fag,_ he was gay for Brendon freaking Urie, one of his best friends, and only a kid. How much more disgusting could he get?

“I’m glad you liked ‘em, Dal,” Brendon said, squeezing his waist quickly. “We better get back before Jon gets punched or Ry is trampled, but remember we love you!” With that he went back the way he came, once again trailing his two friends and somehow dodging chaos that they seemed to walk right into.

Dallon watched them go with a small smile. He would be okay, he was sure of it. He just had to work on the whole “loving himself” thing - which seemed to be a little easier with Brendon around.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Andy Hurley


	3. Friend, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Friend, please remove your hands  
> from over your eyes for me.  
> I know you want to leave, but  
> friend, please don’t take your life away from me."
> 
> (From: Friend, Please)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: suicidal thoughts, slight internalized homophobia, mentions of sickness (it's faking sick, but ik some people don't like seeing the word 'puke' or what have you). Let me know if there's anything else.
> 
> Also this is longer! Something like. 4k words? Woo! (Side note: I found the line break button and I am very happy.)

He knew it was bad, but Andy couldn’t look away from his father’s gun collection. It was right there in front of him, tempting him with gleaming wood and polished barrels. He was home alone - no one would know until his father came home and found him, blood covering the ground and walls, with a hole out of the back of his head - or maybe the side, he wasn’t quite sure.

Andy wanted to die. He would never, ever say it out loud - words were precious things, weapons and defense all at once, and he couldn’t taint them by admitting something so sinful, so  _ wrong.  _ Good people didn’t want to die, and Andy was pretty sure he was good people. He tried to be, anyway. (But then, he was already a bad person for liking boys. Dad would kill him if he knew his son liked boys. Andy didn’t care about  _ other  _ people’s sexualities, but his own had to be as straight as a ruler. It just did.)

So instead of saying anything, he would spend long hours just staring at the guns on the walls of his father’s study, or on the walls lining the hallway, or hung up in the living room. So many guns, so many options. He’d never act on it, never in a million years, but he would imagine for hours, wishing to have the courage to just choose one, put it to his head, and pull the trigger.

“Death is for the weak,” Andy reminded himself this time, staring at the guns on the walls. “You aren’t weak, you know you’re strong.” He was sitting on the floor of the study, knees pulled to his chest and chin resting on top of them. His brown eyes remained locked on a gun that was proudly displayed above his father’s desk. The door was open behind him, so that upon his father’s arrival home, he could rush into his room just across the hall, pull his laptop into his lap, and make it look like he had spent the afternoon in bed like the average sixteen-year-old. 

Even if he left the study door open when it had been closed, or was a little out of breath from the hurry to his room, his father wouldn’t notice. He was always a little preoccupied with… well, with everything besides Andy. Andy was sure that if he were to die, the man wouldn’t notice for at least a week, and even when he did, that he’d move on within the hour, feeling nothing but relief that he would no longer have to worry about a teenager. The man hadn’t really been there for Andy since he was five.

His mother though… that was another reason Andy refrained from killing himself. He couldn’t hurt her that way.

He heard the front door opening, and shot to his feet, already flicking off the light of the study before his father had started up the stairs to check on him. Andy practically flung himself into his room, closing the door only partially behind himself, and landing on his bed with a bounce. He had just settled his laptop onto his lap and opened it when the door was nudged open, and his father was leaning against the doorframe, smartphone in hand.

“You do okay on your own today, son?” he asked, not really paying attention. Andy rolled his eyes - he had been on his own nearly everyday since he was five, when his mother’s long hours as a nurse and his father’s long hours as a who-knows-what began to conflict. 

“I was fine, Dad,” he said, pretending to be interested in something on his computer. In actuality, it was open to Tumblr, and the only posts showing was currently a poem by Pete, and a track Patrick had made on GarageBand. He couldn’t listen to Patrick’s track with his dad in the room, and he had proofread the poem, so he really didn’t care that much.

“Eat dinner?” his dad asked, glancing up from his screen to check his son’s response.

“Mhm,” Andy hummed, liking Pete’s poem and scrolling a little farther down his dash. His father nodded, returning his attention to his phone, and Andy wished that for once he would have the same amount of attention as the damned thing always held. He felt guilty for that. 

“Good, good,” his father remarked. “Get some sleep kid, you’ve got school in the morning.” Andy nodded, ignoring the way his stomach turned at the thought of dragging himself through the hallways for another long day. 

“Night Dad. Love you,” he called as his father turned to leave. The man paused, looking up with his eyebrows raised.

“Hm? Oh, yes, good night, Andy,” he said, closing the door behind him. Andy sighed, leaning back in pillows and ignoring the emptiness in his chest. He scrolled through his dash for a few minutes more, liking his friends’ posts - and wow, did Joe reblog a lot of dogs, he could really give Frank a run for his money - before closing his laptop with a resigned sigh. He took his glasses off, putting them on the table beside his bed and flicked off the lamp.

His last thought before closing his eyes was a promise to himself that he would try to get through the day without wanting to die.

He broke that promise practically the moment he opened his eyes. The thought of dragging himself through the doors of the school, ignoring snide comments about his veganism and straight-edge morals, and trying not to sleep through classes made him want to fall back asleep and never wake up. So when Andy’s mother appeared in the doorway to wake him, he tried something he had never done in his life - he acted ill.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked, concern covering her face as he groaned and rolled towards her, clutching his stomach. She pressed a cool hand to his forehead, frowning at him. “You don’t have a fever…”

“I just feel really sick, Mom,” he mumbled, thinking of things that disgusted him to make himself go pale and a little green. “I feel like I’m going to puke.”

The woman frowned, and Andy began to worry that he wouldn’t be able to pull this off. He had never played sick before, plus his mother was a nurse. It was very likely that his act was awful. Still, he had the fact that his mother had no reason not to believe him on his side. (Unlike Joe’s mother, who had long ago stopped believing him when he lied about illness.) After a long moment, she sighed, getting to her feet.

“I guess you’ll stay home today,” she said, looking down at him with concern. Andy almost felt guilty, but there was too much empty in his chest blocking out everything else. “Why don’t you move to the couch, where you can watch t.v. and I’ll make you some tea and get you some crackers.”

Andy could have cheered, but he contented himself with a small smile as he gather his blanket and shuffled out the door of his room, stopping only long enough to collect his charging phone from his desk on his way. He nearly tripped over his blanket on the stairs, catching himself just in time, and shuffled his way into the living room, where he collapsed on the couch. By the time his mother brought him some crackers and pulled his blankets up to tuck him in tighter, Andy had almost begun to believe that he was sick, himself - almost.

She bustled around a bit, getting herself ready for work and making Andy some tea and soup. When she finally slipped out the door, leaving Andy with a kiss to his forehead, he was half-asleep, watching the television playing Disney Channel with half-lidded eyes.

The moment his mother was out the door, his eyes drifted above the TV, where a gun hung on the wall, looking brand new against the old, peeling wallpaper. He could almost reach it, if he was just a little taller. Andy found himself sitting up, his hands reaching out to hold the soup his mother had left on the coffee table. He was staring at the gun, ignoring Mickey Mouse Clubhouse as it’s theme music blasted in his ears.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but it was long enough that the sun soon fully appeared over horizon, peeking through the curtains and glinting off the guns that hung throughout the room. Andy had long ago finished the soup, and he placed the empty bowl on the table. Now he kept his fingers busy by tracing over the veins in his wrist idly, pondering ways to reach up and take one of the guns that hung just out of his reach... 

“Hey, Andy? You okay?” 

Andy jumped a foot in the air when he saw Gerard and Ray standing in the doorway, carefully pulling off their shoes - his mother hated when people wore shoes in the house. Gerard was using the wall as a support to toe off his boots.

“What? I’m fine?” he asked, eyes flickering over to the gun on the wall guiltily - even though he hadn’t been doing anything besides  _ looking,  _ really.

“Pete texted Joe when you weren’t in class, apparently, and when he didn’t know where you were, they freaked and asked us to come check up on you,” Ray explained, padding into the living room in his socks. He settled himself on the end of the sofa, by Andy’s feet, and frowned at the tea and soup bowl beside him. “We know where the extra key is so we figured we’d check it out… are you sure you’re okay? You hardly miss school, and when you do, you always let Joe know, at least.”

“Yeah, you’re luck Linds had class and couldn’t come - she was worried sick. You know how she gets,” Gerard laughed. Ray chuckled as well, but Andy remained silent, his gaze only leaving his knees to send more guilty glances towards the weapons on the walls. They couldn’t know what he had been thinking - they would hate him for it.

“‘M fine,” he said softly, “You guys can go home now.”

Gerard frowned at him from where he had settled himself on the floor across the coffee table. His eyes followed Andy’s occasional glances to the guns on  the wall, and the concern in his eyes seemed to deepen. “I really don’t think that would be the best idea,” he replied, narrowing his eyes and biting his lip in thought.

Andy’s heart constricted in his chest, and he wanted to cry. Gerard knew - there was no way that he didn’t know. And if he knew, then Lindsey and Ray definitely knew, because they always caught on to things faster than Gee did - they had some sort of superpower, Joe had decided. He felt his face turning red as they stared at him, clearly worried now. He didn’t want them to be worried about him - they didn’t  _ need  _ to be worried about him, God dammit!

“Clearly, we do need to worry about you,” Ray said, patting Andy’s foot gently.

“Shit, I said that out loud?” he asked, embarrassed. He pressed his thumbnail into his wrist, right over the vein. It didn’t hurt so much as provide a little bit of clarity as things began to crash down around him.

Ray leaned over, carefully pulling Andy’s hand away from his wrist. He stared at the older boy in alarm - he’d been caught. There was no way he could deny that it had been intentional, not when he knew that upon closer inspection there were several nail marks covering his wrists. 

“Andy, please, talk to us,” Gerard said softly, crossing his arms on the coffee table and resting his chin on them. Andy blinked back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

“I don’t want to be alive,” he whispered, pulling his blankets up around his body. “I want to die. And it would be so… so  _ easy…  _ I mean, look at all these  _ guns. _ It would only take one.”

The two older boys glanced at each other, and Gerard pulled his phone from his pocket, typing out a message that Andy was pretty sure would be to Pete, Joe, and Patrick. Ray scooted a little closer to him, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch away, the oldest boy carefully pulled him into a hug, though Andy sat there a little stiffly as he cried.

Gerard let out a small, distressed sound, and looked up at Andy accusingly. He flinched back, curling towards Ray ever-so-slightly. He was expecting to be shouted at, told that he was wrong for thinking this way, that he was  _ bad.  _ Instead, the words that left Gee’s mouth were quiet, carefully gentle.

“You haven’t told Joe?” he asked, frowning softly. “Holy shit, Andy, why haven’t you told anyone this? We could have helped you.”

The corner of Andy’s mouth began to edge downwards. He eyed the hole in his sock that stuck out from under his blankets, all the way across Ray’s lap. “It’s  _ wrong, _ ” he muttered, teeth catching on his lower lip. “Good people don’t think about… suicide.”

The moment the word left his mouth, Andy felt like a waterfall had suddenly opened up over his head. He curled into himself, leaning away from Ray’s arms - he didn’t deserve comfort from someone like Ray. Suicide, just like being gay, was  _ sin,  _ and though Andy wasn’t particularly religious, he’d had reminders to stay very, very far away from sin ingrained in his head from a young age. Good people didn’t sin. He was good. He  _ was. _

“Andy, Andy, are you okay? Gee, did you text Joe?” Ray was crouched on the floor beside him now, and Andy wasn’t quite sure how he got there. His fists clenched, muscles bulging from underneath his t-shirt. He was good, he was good, he was good.

“Shit, shit, Andy, what’s going on?” Gerard was at his other side, holding his hands together at the wrists. Everything was black and fuzzy, but he struggled against the weight on his shins - what the Hell was that, anyway? - and his human restraint. He could feel Ray’s arms wrapped around him from behind, keeping him in place. He hated this, he wasn’t claustrophobic but he was starting to understand what that felt like. 

He let out a shaky breath and slowly stopped fighting, rightly assuming that his friends would let him go if he calmed down. Soon enough, Ray’s grip loosened on his torso, and the older boy pulled back. Andy’s vision began to clear, and he saw that Gerard was sitting on his legs to keep him from kicking, watching him with wide, frightened eyes. He slowly released Andy’s wrists, though he stayed on his legs, hands raised to grab him again if he needed to.

“What just happened?” Andy asked softly, eying the coffee table, which had moved a few inches backwards, away from the couch.

“Y-You tried to lunge for a gun,” Gerard said, his voice strangely high. “You tried to… if we weren’t here… shit, Andy.”

Ray let out a humorless chuckle, and Andy thought he would do the same if he weren’t so scared by the fact that he had apparently blacked out. It seemed all Gerard could say was some form of ‘shit, Andy.’ It would have been amusing in a different circumstance.

“That… that won’t happen again,” he mumbled, already cursing himself inside. Now his friends would think he was crazy - they would tell Pete and ‘Trick and, worst of all, Joe, and his three best friends would stop speaking to him. He would be all alone-

“Jesus, calm down,” Ray said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He pulled it back as Andy flinched, frowning apologetically. “We’re worried about you… maybe you should come with us to Pete’s - high school’s letting out soon, we came over a little after you guys would be eating lunch.”

“N-no,” Andy managed to stutter out, shaking his head. He may be new to this faking sick thing, but he was pretty sure he had to be home when one of his parents got back. And his mother had said that his father would come home early to check up on him - though the likelihood of that actually happening was slim to none.

He only just managed to convince them to leave, promising he’d drop by Pete’s later if he could get there. Gee had to step in when Ray seemed to be about to offer to stay with him, ushering him out the door with an odd look in his eye. Andy was sure they would make him talk later, but for now, he was safe. Hopefully, they wouldn’t go spilling everything to the others the minute they walked into Pete’s basement. 

Andy waited for his father to come home, staring at the TV without really seeing it. Every few minutes his eyes would glance away - not to the guns, however, but to his phone, which was resting on the coffee table and looking innocent as can be. When it finally began to go off, he nearly lunged for it, opening the iMessage app with shaky fingers.

* * *

**Group Chat: Drumming Ninjas**

**Josh: Yoooo we should go get pizza tonight whos free?** **  
** **Spencer: pizza yES**

**Patrick: Drummers pizza night, yes yes yes. Andy?**

**Andy: Sure sounds gr8**

**Josh: sick as frICK**

**Josh: Palazzo della Pizza at 5 b there or b square**

**Andy: Kkkkk**

* * *

Andy sent the last message and leaned back in the couch, closing his eyes and pulling his blanket up over his head. Sleep seemed to be evading him, though he could feel the tiredness seeping into his bones. For the thousandth time, he wished he could fall asleep and never wake up, but he shooed those thoughts to the back of his mind. The day had been long and hard enough as it was.

His father returned home at four, just as Andy was hauling himself off the couch to get ready to head out. The man barely said hello before he was locking himself in his study, probably burying himself in his work as he always seemed to be. Andy took this as permission to leave, and tugged on his jeans and t-shirt without even checking to see they were clean. (Joe would be in shock.) As an afterthought, he tugged on a jacket and placed his sunglasses over his eyes.

His drive to Palazzo della Pizza was short, something for which he was exceptionally thankful. He was tired and sad and really wanted to avoid people, but he also knew that Josh, Spencer, and Patrick wouldn’t let it go if he denied the invite. Gerard and Ray were already worried about him. He didn’t need to add three more to the list - especially since Josh and Spence were only thirteen, just barely teenagers.

Andy was the second one to arrive, as Patrick was just climbing from his mother’s car as Andy parked. He waved, pushing his sunglasses up to the top of his head as he approached the door and paused to wait for Patrick. The shorter boy jogged up, glasses sliding off his nose and untied laces forming tripping hazards as they hit the ground.

“Hey, Andy,” he greeted, tugging on the bill of his cap. “You weren’t in school today.”

Andy winced. “Felt gross this morning,” he explained, hoping that his cheeks didn’t flush as he said so. He needed to get used to this playing hooky thing. 

“You gotta get better at lying, dude,” Patrick sighed, sounding a little exasperated. “Learn some lessons from Frank or something - dude  _ never  _ gets in trouble for skipping.” He reached for the door, opening it for his friend and heading to the hostess. 

The moment the hostess smiled at him, however, his face turned red, and he stepped back pushing Andy in front of him. Andy frowned at his younger friend, but asked the woman for a table for four with a big smile, one Joe and Pete had taken to calling his “lady killer,” though Brendon claimed he looked more like a “tiny, tiny bean.” The girl blushed, nodding quickly and leading them through the little pizza restaurant to a small booth in the back.

They settled in just as Josh and Spencer appeared around the corner, trying to look bigger than their thirteen years allowed. Josh spotted them as they glanced around and hit Spencer’s arm, tugging on his sleeve to lead him to their table. 

“Hey guys, guess what? Tyler wrote this song with his ukulele, and it’s awesome,” Josh started, not even bothering to greet his friends before he began chattering away. “I’d show it to you, but he made me promise to not show  _ anyone. _ ”

Spencer huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Bet Ry’s songs are better,” he teased. Josh frowned, pushing him away. 

“No way - Tyler is the greatest ever!” he pouted.

It seemed like only a few moments had passed before Andy was laughing over their mostly-devoured Xtra-Large pizza, thoughts from earlier that day far from his mind. That is, until talk turned serious as Josh reached for his second (massive) slice, brow furrowing and mouth turning down at the corners.

“I’m kinda worried about Ty,” he said softly, looking up at the older boys with wide eyes. “He’s been… retreating into his shell, sort of. It’s scaring me - he keeps saying stuff about how life sucks and he hates himself and… it’s really scary.”

Andy shifted in his seat, ignoring Patrick’s glances. The same sort of thing had slipped out of his mouth from time to time, and he knew that Patrick had noticed. Patrick seemed to notice everything that was off amongst the group, even with the people he didn’t know as well. Patrick said something about making sure Tyler knew that Josh was there for him, and said he’d get someone like Pete to talk to him - older and a little more experienced. Andy almost wanted to confess his own suicidal thoughts, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

Their conversation stayed serious, but not for too long, as Spencer cracked a joke that had them all doubled over laughing. Andy couldn’t seem to get their earlier conversation out of his mind completely, though, even after he had paid for their pizza and dropped the three younger boys off at their respective homes.

* * *

Andy sat alone in the study, staring once again at his father’s guns. His phone was sitting beside him on the floor, going off every few minutes with slightly worried (and high) texts from Joe, that were getting more worried with every passing minute that he didn’t bother to respond.

He didn’t even notice when he stood until he had crossed the room and was standing directly in front of the wall of his father’s most prized possessions. His hand raised, reaching for the gun… and his phone buzzed, causing him to leap backwards in alarm.

This knocked a little sense into him, and he texted Joe back to say he was “going to bed.” Wiping at tears that threatened to spill from his eyes with one hand, Andy made the decision to call Ray for help. Ray was the Dad of this messed up family. Ray could make all the pain go away before he did something stupid.

“Andy? You never call me, are you okay, man?” Ray asked the minute he picked up. Andy let out a sob he hadn’t known he was holding, and fell to the carpeted floor of the study, leaning his forehead against the paneled wall. “Andy? You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?”

Andy shook his head, forgetting that Ray couldn’t see him. “N-No. Not… not yet,” he whispered, fists tangling into the fabric of his workout shirts. “I want to, I want to so bad. My parents are gone for the weekend, it would be so  _ easy,  _ and Dad wouldn’t even care. Most people wouldn’t care. J-Joe wouldn’t even care.”

“Joe would care. So many people would care,” Ray said. Andy could hear him shifting on the other end of the line, walking through his apartment. A door closed, and Ray was speaking again, voice a little louder as he settled onto his bed. “Why do you want to die, Andy?”

Andy’s voice was small as he told Ray everything, things he had never dared to speak out loud. How much his father ignored him, how neglected he felt, how unimportant. Memories of emptiness and loneliness and self-hatred and worthlessness bubbled from his chest and into the phone, and Ray (and quite possibly his hair) absorbed everything without saying a word. He even mentioned how awful, how sinful, how  _ wrong  _ he felt for liking boys, thought he refused to let the word “gay” leave his lips.

“How long have you been keeping all this inside?” Ray asked softly when he was finally done. Andy frowned at his legs, eyebrows pulled together in concentration.

“I don’t really know,” he admitted. “Seems like… seems like forever.”

Ray talked to him a while longer, convincing him to get up and go to bed. Still he stayed on the phone with him until Andy fell asleep, refusing to let him talk him away. “You have to tell Joe,” was the last thing he said as Andy’s eyes closed. “He deserves to know.” Andy hummed in acknowledgement as his eyes drifted closed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Ray Toro


	4. Stressed Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wish we could turn back time,  
> to the good ol’ days,  
> when our mommas sang us to sleep,  
> but now we’re stressed out.
> 
> (Stressed Out)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would've been up sooner, but I had /so/ much schoolwork and only just finished actually typing it. I've had it written in my journal for like, days though. Sorry if it sucks, I didn't really proof it because I wanted to get it up. Oops.
> 
> Also, if you haven't guessed, these are sort of in chronological order. Just an fyi.
> 
> Warnings: Really brief implications of alcoholism and eating disorders. Also poor Ray is stressed tf out, wow. College is tough. (I'm guessing. I'm in high school, so I wouldn't really know.)

Imagine, if you will, several hundred young teenagers and pre-teens gathered in a football field as smoke pours from the windows of their middle school. This was the sight that greeted Ray Toro as he parked the van Andy’s borrowed van on the street one warm spring day, after receiving several frantic texts and calls from his younger friends.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, as he had a class in a little less than half an hour at the campus across town, but here he was, waiting for the kids to be dismissed and studying for a test at the same time.

Debby had called first, sounding frantic and a little bit teary as she (probably) clung to Jenna’s arm. The school was on fire, and they were going to dismiss students soon. Her mom was out of town (of course she was, did any one of these parents stay in town to take care of their own children?) and Jenna’s parents had meetings that afternoon and couldn’t get out of them. Ray sighed and told her to find out more information, already trying to figure out what he could pull out of his car to fit the girls.

The next call was from Spencer, and a whole lot calmer than the first. He needed a ride home, as the teachers were refusing to let him walk, and had heard that Ray was going to drive Jenna and Debby. Ray, of course, agreed to drive him, though he was now certain he couldn’t empty the car enough to drive him. (Luckily, it was lunch time at the high school, and Andy offered to give him the keys to his van. Ray was eternally grateful.)

Finally, he got a text from Hayley, begging him to let her “even just sit on the floor” if there wasn’t enough room. At this point, Ray was halfway to borrowing Andy’s van, so he assured her there was plenty of room.

This was just a day in the life of Ray Toro. Sometimes it seemed like he was the father twenty or so children, along with "Actual Child" Gerard Way. Trying to juggle this with a job and classes tended to feel a little overwhelming.

“Thank you so much,” Hayley gasped, throwing herself into the van. Jenna and Debby piled in behind her, both crawling into the far back of the vehicle, and Spencer slipped in last. Ray pasted on a smile, closing his textbook and placing it on the vacant passenger seat.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, starting the car as Spencer slammed the van’s door shut. “First stop on the Toro Express is Spencer’s house!”

Once all four eighth graders were dropped off, Ray gave Andy his van back and hurried to school. He had entirely missed his English class, but the least he could do was try to explain to his professor what happened and get the assignments before he had to hurry off to Music Theory 1.

Professor Ermin was sorting out papers when Ray entered the classroom. He looked up, smiling a little when he spotted the bushy-haired nineteen year old and his sheepish grin. “Showed a little late, didn’t you, Mr. Toro?” he teased.

Ray felt his face turn red. “Well, I mean, yes, but I have a good reason!” he replied guiltily, thankful that Ermin was one of the more understanding professors on campus. His Algebra teacher would have killed him.

“And would be?” Ermin asked, pausing in his paper shuffling to look at Ray over the tops of his glasses.

“There was a fire at the middle school I went to, and I know a few kids who go there,” he explained, knowing that this was already a fairly odd thing for any college student to say. “They had no way to get home once classes were dismissed, so they called me. My friend, Lindsey, was in class, my roommate had a doctor’s appointment, and the other people they could have called are all in high school. I was the only one sort of available. I’m sorry, sir.”

Ermin eyed him for a moment, judging how truthful Ray was being. His entire body was hunched over and sad-looking. Even his hair seemed to have deflated. The professor smiled at his student, nodded.

“It’s alright, Toro,” he said finally, making Ray look up in surprise. He shifted through the papers on the desk until he found the take-home quiz he had given out, and held it up for Ray to take. “This is due next Wednesday. Use the book, internet, whatever. We’re trying to beef up your grades, here.”

“Thank you, Professor Ermin,” Ray grinned, his eyes lighting up as he took the assignment.

“Yeah, well, don’t let it happen again,” he nodded, smile in his eyes. Ray nodded, excusing himself from the classroom. He turned towards the music building, and began to run to his next class. Professor Hoppus hated when students walked into his room late, and there were only six minutes left until class started.

He was going to go insane someday.

* * *

“Ray do you wanna play?” Mikey asked, throwing down the Xbox remote as Tyler killed him for the second time. Ray shook his head at the younger boy, peering down at the laptop that was balanced on his knees. Mikey frowned, abandoning his beanbag to whoever decided to take his place in the ongoing Call of Duty battle onscreen. He sat cross-legged next to Ray, eyeing the papers that kept the older boy cornered against the wall of Pete’s basement hangout. “What’re you doing?”

“Writing an essay,” Ray mumbled from under his hair. His fingers flew over the keys, which made a satisfying clicking sound as he typed away.

“What’s about? How long’s it gonna be?”

“I dunno - long,” Ray sighed. “It’s on an important musician who had shaped music in some way or some shit like that. I’m doing Randy Rhoads.” His brow furrowed in concentration as he typed, biting on the inside of his cheek as he typed. He completely ignored Gerard’s slight snort and mumbled ‘are we surprised,’ too buried in his work to pay much attention to what was going outside of his little corner.

Lindsey frowned, leaning out of the small bathroom to look at him. She and Jamia were dying Hayley, Halsey, Pete, and Josh’s hair, and she waved a gloved finger at him scoldingly. “Don’t stress yourself out, Toro,” she called. “Take a break if you need one.”

“Don’t need one,” he mumbled, frowning at the article he opened on his computer screen. “‘M not stressed.”

Lindsey rolled her eyes, carefully tying a plastic bag over Hayley’s head and pushing her out of the bathroom. “Sure, okay,” she muttered, turning to eye Pete’s growing roots. “I have the same assignment, Ray. It’s due in like, three weeks. You have time to relax.”

Ray lifted his head long enough to glare up at her, then went back to typing. He had to get this done, because he had time now, he reminded himself. If he waited, then he would be overwhelmed by other assignments and group get-togethers and picking up younger kids, and he’d never finish anything. This was just the price he had to pay.

No one else bothered him the rest of the night. Even Mikey pulled himself to his feet eventually, patting Ray absentmindedly on the head and making his way over to Pete and Patrick, huddled in the corner after the girls finished dying Pete’s hair bright pink.

When the group began to disperse, Gerard found Ray still tucked in the corner, though he was now fast asleep. His chin had dropped to his chest, and the laptop had slipped off of his lap. As Gerard watched, his friend began slowly tipping sideways, head aimed towards the floor.

Gerard almost didn’t want to wake him up. He had looked out the small windows of his basement several times in the past few weeks and seen Ray seated at his desk next door, working on schoolwork that wasn’t due yet at odd hours. He was starting to be concerned for his lack of sleep. And this was coming from the boy that got two or three hours each night.

Because he knew how badly Ray had been sleeping recently, Gerard hesitated for a moment before waking him, tempted to ask Pete to just let the guy sleep. However, he knew how mad his friend would be when he woke up alone, so he found himself crouching by Ray’s side, shaking him awake.

“C’mon, man,” he grumbled, pushing on the (slightly) younger boy’s shoulder. “Wake up. It’s time to go, and I promised you a ride home.”

Ray groaned, blinking up at Gerard with bleary eyes. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked, frown lines forming between his eyebrows. His head was swimming a little from the unexpected nap, running slower than normal. He glanced at his laptop, which Gerard had closed and moved away, and his papers stacked neatly at his side, the work of Mikey before the younger boy had left Ray’s side.

“Yeah,” Gerard admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “You needed it though. The circles under your eyes were starting to be blacker than my soul.” He smiled awkwardly, revealing his small teeth.

Ray chuckled a little hesitantly, and leaned forward to pick up his things. “Sorry,” he mumbled, moving to shove his laptop into the bag. He frowned at the indicator light on the side, which wasn’t flashing - his computer had died while he slept.

Gerard rolled his eyes, watching Ray frown at the laptop. He reached out, taking the bag and the computer, and putting it away. “Don’t apologize,” he grumbled, rolling up onto his knees. “I said you needed it. Now, let’s go. I promised you a ride home, and Mikey’s getting impatient.”

He nodded towards his younger brother, who was shifting between his feet with his arms crossed, eyes darting between Gerard and the stairs pointedly. Ray nodded, smiling a little guiltily at the younger boy and pulling himself to his feet.

He followed Mikey and Gerard slowly, brain still half-fuzzy with sleep. When they reached the car, he collapsed into the backseat of the small vehicle with a yawn that seemed to swallow his entire face. When they reached their homes he vaguely remembered that he was supposed to be the one taking care of the brothers, forcing food into Gerard and drink from both boys’ hands. Yet here he was now, being half-carried into his room and dumped onto his bed by the two brothers.

“Linds said she’ll be by in the morning to check on you,” Mikey said, tugging Ray’s shoes off and struggling to get the blankets out from under him. “If you’re working on something, she might actually murder you...God damn, Ray, move your ass for a second.”

Ray nodded, shifting so Mikey could pull the blankets from under his body properly. His eyes were already drooping. He shouldn’t go to sleep, he should work on his essay, or maybe one of his compositions for class or… or…

He was asleep before Mikey and Gerard turned off the light and left the room.

* * *

Lindsey poked Ray in the back, waving the CD she held. He stared blankly at her, barely gripping the CDs in his own hands. “Ray,” she said gently, shoving the case into his face. “It’s the the only Bowie album Gee doesn’t have. Should I get it for him?”

Ray shrugged, mind racing through the list of things he needed to do. _Didn’t I tell Spencer’s parents that I’d take him to the orthodontist this afternoon? Fuck, I’ve got so much to do, what am I doing in a music store?_

“Gotta pick up Spence,” he said suddenly, nearly dropping the disks in his hands. Lindsey jumped a little at his sudden exclamation. She shook her head, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him in one place.

“Calm down. Andy’s gonna take him,” she said with a small smile. “You need a break, and this is it. Gee wasn’t kidding - you’re stressed as _fuck._ ”

“I’m not stressed,” Ray insisted, biting the inside of his cheek. How many times was he going to have to say that before people believed him. The girl rolled her eyes at him and pulled his sleeve, walking them towards the cash register.

Despite his protests, she paid for his CDs, as well as the Bowie for Gerard and something for herself that Ray didn’t see. When they were back in her car, a slightly beat up truck that she had bought from used car dealership, she refused to tell him where they were going next. Ray was more than a little surprised when they turned towards the college campus.

“I thought you were trying to ‘destress’ me?” he said, eyebrows furrowed. Lindsey nodded and smiled a little secretly, pulling into the parking lot of a decrepit apartment complex that wasn’t too far from the Music and Arts buildings. Ray had never been close enough to these buildings to see how rundown they looked from outside, though he thought they had been there at least since his parents were in college. “Why are we… here?”

“Just follow me,” she laughed, climbing out of the vehicle and heading for one of the buildings. Ray was surprised to see Gerard sitting on the staircase with a cigarette burning between his fingers. He breathed in the nicotine-laced smoke one last time before crushing it under his boot and standing up to greet them.

Geard held up a key with a huge _‘Green Bay Apartments’_ keychain, smiling cheekily at Lindsey and Ray. “”Security in the place sorta sucks,” he laughed. “They handed me a key and told me to check the place out by myself.”

“What place?” Ray questioned, following his friends up the stairs and to one of the doors on the landing. Gerard held up a finger, jiggling the key in the lock for a moment before before it unlocked and pushed the door open.

The apartment on the other side was sort of dingy, though it wasn’t as small as Ray expected it to be. The living room carpet looked a little dirty, and the windows were covered by dusty blinds. Off of the living room was a dining area and a medium kitchen connected to that. Across the room was a small balcony with a dirty white table and a pair of matching folding chairs. Near that, there was a short hallway, off of which were a bathroom and two moderately sized bedrooms.

“What d’ya think?” Gerard asked after they had looked through the entire apartment and were standing in the bathroom. Ray started when he realized that his friends were looking to him for an answer.

“It’s pretty okay, I guess,” he said slowly, confusion coloring his features.

“Would you wanna live here with me?” Gee continued, raising his eyebrows.

“I… what?”

“I figure that way we could look out for each other,” he explained, red hair falling into his eyes. He tugged at the sleeves of his leather jacket a little insecurely, smiling awkwardly. “I’ll make sure you don’t overwork yourself, you make sure I… you know, function like a human being. That way we’re not relying on our parents, but we aren’t completely alone.”

Ray pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. He worked at a music store, and received a pretty good paycheck, given the fact that he was a college kid that had been doing the same job since he was fifteen. He could contribute part of the rent, and judging by the state of the place, it wouldn’t be too bad. This could work, if he tried. The only problem was…

“What about my parents - I’ll have to talk to them,” he said finally, crossing his arms across his chest. For a long time, they had insisted that he live at home for his freshman and sophomore years at college - what was the likelihood that they would change their minds now?

This was where Lindsey piped in, having been oddly quiet as they perused the house - probably because she had a scholarship to the school that paid for housing on campus, and thus, wasn’t one of the people who would be living here. She smiled sheepishly, holding up her phone. “I may have already talked to them,” she admitted, twirling the end of one of her black pigtails innocently. “Not that it matters, because you’re nineteen and an adult, but you have their support if you choose do this.”

He stayed silent for a moment, before nodding, smiling as Gerard cheered at his response. “Okay. Okay, that’s actually a really good idea. I… I think it’ll work. Let’s do this. Let’s move in together.”

Gerard’s grin was wide, the one that could have reeled a lot of girls (and maybe some guys) in during high school if he hadn’t hid it behind long black hair. It was one that he only gave to his friends when he was excited. “I have one problem with this apartment,” he admitted, turning towards the small mirror above the sink.

Lindsey looked a little worried. “What’s that?” she asked, pulling her eyebrows together and frowning at her friend.

“Honey, this mirror isn’t big enough for the both of us,” he drawled, laughter nearly cutting off his remark. Ray grinned, his first real, honest-to-god grin in a long time. This wouldn’t be so bad.

(And for the record, Gee was right. With Ray’s hair, there was no way the two boys - or were they men now? - could use the bathroom mirror at the same time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Gerard Way


	5. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temperature is dropping, temperature is dropping,  
> I'm not sure if I can see this ever stopping,  
> Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts, no,  
> You are all that I've got, no.
> 
> (Doubt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should not have taken as long as it should have. In my defense (sort of) I just got a new puppy (he's a Pomeranian/chihuahua, and his name is Marvel) and I have four projects due in the next two weeks, plus me and my friend are going to District History Fair on Thursday so that's like. No pressure or anything. 
> 
> But here it is. I hope you enjoy?
> 
> Trigger Warnings for: Eating disorders, implied abuse, self-hatred, lack of proofreading

Gerard kept his eyes closed against the sunlight that shone through his window. An arm came up to cover his face and he rolled over to face the wall. “Go away, sun,” he grumbled, burying himself a little further into his blankets. 

“Yeah, that’ll work,” someone snorted, exhaling smoke in the general vicinity of his face. Gerard grunted, turning his head to look over his shoulder. Frank grinned back at him, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on Gerard’s desk. His long black hair was edging towards the collar of the black shirt he wore and he leaned against the doorframe.

“Why are you here?” Gee asked, blinking blearily at the younger boy. Frank pulled out the desk chair and sat himself in the seat, leaning back on the back legs. 

“I wanna go get lunch,” he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. A purple bruise, one that Gerard was pretty sure he hadn’t seen before, was dark against the pale skin of his arm. “And I don’t have money. So…”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Gerard groused, ignoring the way his stomach rolled at the thought of food. He would just get a salad or something. “Lemme get on clothes.”

“What, you don’t wanna wear your pajama pants and t-shirt to Coffee's For Closers?” Frank teased. Gerard felt himself turning as red as his hair, and moved to shoo the other boy from the room. Frank held his hands up defensively as he was shoved towards the door. “Alright, I’m going. Chill.”

Once the door closed behind him, Gerard scrambled to pull on a pair of skinny jeans and an ancient Misfits shirt from at least sophomore year of high school. A leather jacket was yanked over his shoulders, and he slipped his feet into a pair of converse, not bothering to tie the laces. before heading towards the living room.

Ray was seated at the dining room table with his Math textbook open in front of him, frowning down at some equation or another. As Gerard slipped through the room to get coffee from the kitchen, he paused at the table to frown down at his roommate. “Hey, wanna come to lunch with me and Frank?” he asked, gently, realizing that he didn’t  _ quite  _ need to force Ray to take a break yet.

“Don’t mind me crashing your date?” he teased back, moving to stand regardless.

Gerard’s face flushed and he ducked his head, eyeing the toes of his shoes. His hair fell into his eyes, and he addressed his feet more than the curly-haired boy in front of him. “‘s not a date,” he mumbled. Still, he was silently rejoicing that he had successfully pulled Ray from his work for once. They had been living together for a couple of months now, but Gee had discovered it was incredibly difficult to pull Ray away from anything.

“Sure it isn’t,” Ray grinned. He grabbed the leather jacket that hung from the back of his chair and slipped it over his shoulders. While he went into the living room to wait with Frank, Gerard hurried to pour himself a cup of coffee for the drive. He would need it to survive.

When he reappeared, Frank bounced up, smiling from under the strands of hair that had decided to fall into his face. “Took you long enough. Mikey’s waiting in Ray’s car. It’s like a freaking family outing!” he cried, tugging gently on Gerard’s wrist to pull him out the door faster.

Gerard looked at Ray pointedly and mouthed ‘not a date.’ How could it be, when his little brother was going to be there? Ray smirked back, and Gee tried not to feel bad about crushing on a fifteen-year-old. After all, he’d known Frank since the kid was four.

Mikey was waiting in the passenger seat with his arms crossed, frowning grumpily at his lap. Clearly, Frank had pulled him out of the house before he could get a cup of coffee. Gee decided to take pity on his brother, and he took one last gulp from his cup before handing it up to Mikey. His brother smiled at him gratefully and began nursing the drink, scowl disappearing from his face with each sip.

The ride to Coffee’s For Closers was mostly silent, given that the Way brothers were clearly half-asleep and Ray was concentrating on driving. Frank was bouncing in his seat impatiently, as if he had never been to the small coffee shop that was tucked away on the far edge of campus. Gerard resisted the urge to grin at how cute it was. (Frank was beyond the normal age for cute, anyway. The only person who Gerard had ever seen that defied that is Patrick. There was just something about that kid…)

As they approached the door, Gerard’s palms began to sweat. He really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to eat anything, but he couldn’t get nothing. He was supposed to be better - though he knew that Ray knew better than that, and was just biding his time before he pushed it.

Said boy shot him a look of concern as they got in line, raising his eyebrows to ask if he was alright. He nodded in response, gnawing on his lower lip and trying not to look at the case full of sandwiches and pastries and desserts. It seemed like all too soon, it was his turn to order.

“I’ll, um, take a mocha latte,” he stammered, eyes darting to the display case. His stomach turned at the thought of eating one of the options on the other side of the glass.  _ Too many calories. Can’t get fat. Gotta stay perfect,  _ his mind chanted at him. He clenched his fists and swallowed hard, staring up at the soups and salads menu behind the barista’s head. “And a caprese salad,” he finished finally, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat.

_ Too much, too much, too much,  _ he thought once he had paid and taken his number, wandering over to the table that his brother and Frank already occupied. 

“Gee! What’d you get?” Frank asked, twisting his fingers together. For some reason, he seemed so off today. He was usually hyper and sarcastic, but Gerad thought this was different somehow.

“Caprese salad,” he replied breezily, praying they wouldn’t think about it too hard. Salad was salad, cheese or not, and the fact that he had only ordered that was what Lindsey would call ‘cause for concern.’

Mikey frowned at him, though his gaze shifted to the napkin dispenser at Gerard’s glare. “Sweet! I got a veggie sandwich, but you probably guessed that,” Frank laughed, seemingly unaware of the tension between the brothers. He was right, Gerard had guessed it. It was what the boy got every time they came to Coffee’s for Closers. 

Ray sat down at the one remaining seat, glancing behind his shoulder, toward the door, as he did. “Don’t look now, but I see Bob Bryar,” he mumbled, glancing at Frank carefully. Frank paled, sliding lower in his seat. The bully didn’t seem to notice them, though, and ordered a coffee. The entire table spent the next five minutes in tense silence, before he grabbed his cup and left.

“Hate that asshole,” Mikey said as the door closed behind the blond and Frank breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s started messing with Patrick too. Using the fact that he doesn’t talk much to his advantage. Kid needs to start standing up for himself.”

“Says you,” Frank retorted. “Yesterday you-” He was cut off by Mikey frantically shaking his head and looking over at Gerard from the corner of his eye. He smiled sheepishly, ducking his head a little as Gerard rounded on his younger brother.

“‘Yesterday you,’ what?” Gerard asked, eyes blazing as he glared towards the door that Bob had just walked out of. When Mikey didn’t answer, he turned to Frank. The younger boy slunk down even further in his seat, biting his lip and wincing as if he expected Gerard to yell or lunge across the table and hit him. Gee frowned, his face softening. “Frank, calm down,” he said softly. “I just want to know.”

Frank shrugged,glancing away. He cautiously lifted a piece of his sandwich to his mouth, eyes locked on Gerard. Gerard felt his face turn red, and he purposefully averted his eyes. When he glanced back, the smaller boy was immersed in a conversation with Ray, head ducked and hair gently brushing his cheeks. Gee’s fingers itched for a pencil to sketch the scene, but he shoved the feeling away. Now was not the time to think about drawing slightly creepy pictures of his best friend.

After lunch (half of which Gerard threw away - his friends did not miss this), Ray dropped Frank and Gee off at the apartment, and took Mikey with him for his shift at the music store. The two boys promptly climbed into Gerard’s car and drove to the comic store, ignoring the way that the car squealed in protest each time the brakes were used. 

The store was mostly abandoned, as it often was when they visited. The boys nodded at the acne-riddled teenager manning the register - the owner’s son, Clark - and slipped into the back, eyes scanning the shelves eagerly. Frank brushed his hair behind his ear and picked up an old issue of  Batman, paging through it gingerly.

“So the talent show’s comin’ up,” he said conversationally, voice low and a little husky.

“Yeah, and?” Gerard replied, raising his eyebrows. The talent show wasn’t anything special, at least not to their friends. None of them particularly wanted to use any of their “talents” on stage, in front of their whole (unforgiving) school. 

“And, Bren wants to be in it,” Frank continued, peeking up from under his hair to look at Gerard’s face. Gerard quickly ducked his head, trying to look immersed in the comic he held in his hands. “He and Spence and Ryan and some kid named Jon are gonna do a band thing. They were practicing at Pete’s the other day - you weren’t there, you had class. They’re pretty good.”

Gee wasn’t surprised. He had heard each of the kids play (except Jon, but that was understandable, given that he wasn’t part of their epically sized group). They were all good, very good, at what they could do. “So that means I should go, right?” he said, pretending to debate the idea. Of course, he would go. After all, he’d do anything for the group of nerds he hung out with. 

“They’re pretty good, Gee,” Frank nodded to himself, smiling a little. “They’re calling themselves Panic! at the Disco. Got some songs written and everything.”

“I dunno,” he said slowly, pursing his lips. “I did say I’d never set foot in that hell-hole again after graduating…” Frank looked crestfallen, and Gerard couldn’t help but wonder why. He wasn’t playing, why would he seem so disappointed? “Of course I’ll go, you idiot.”

Frank’s face split into a huge grin. “Awesome!” he said quietly, turning back to the shelf in front of him with a large smile and a slightly red face. It was adorable. 

Gee’s stomach took this opportunity to ruin the moment by growling - loudly. The younger boy turned to look at him with wide eyes, and he felt his face getting hot. Silently, he cursed himself for giving away how hungry he was. No one was supposed to know he was doing this again. Frank frowned at him, stepping a little closer in concern.

“You still hungry?” he asked, tilting his head a little to get his hair out of his face. “We can go the gas station or something.”

“N-No,” Gerard replied, shaking his head quickly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Frank frowned but conceded with a nod, and Gerard allowed himself to sigh in relief. What he didn’t notice was Frank quietly slipping his phone from his pocket and texting Ray and Lindsey. If he had, things would have probably ended a lot worse.

The two boys spent another half hour searching through comics. Neither of them had any money, however, so they didn’t bother to buy anything. (Even though Frank found a couple he really, really wanted.) Finally, they made their way back to Gerard’s apartment, a slightly awkward silence filling the car until they were almost to the apartment complex.

“Gerard, you know I care about you, right?” Frank said softly as the older boy stopped at a red light. Gee nodded slowly, glancing over at the other boy with raised eyebrows, waiting for the younger boy to continue. However, he stayed silent, making Gerard shift uncomfortably.

The apartment was silent when they got in, as Ray was still at work, and Mikey was still keeping him company. Frank walked into the kitchen without a word, so Gee decided to ignore him, opting to dig a sketchbook and pencil out of the pile on the coffee table. He’d had a new idea for the comic he was working on, specifically a character named Fun Ghoul - who was  _ definitely  _ not based on Frank. 

Said boy wandered back in, holding a plate of... toast? He sat on the couch next to Gerard, propping his feet on the coffee table, and handed him a slice. “Eat it,” he ordered. And, even though Frank was four years younger than Gerard, the steely determination in his voice had him setting down the sketchbook and taking the slice of bread.

Frank watched with a small frown, eating his own piece of toast quickly. He didn’t seem satisfied until Gerard finished his food. His stomach roiled once it was gone. It felt gross, sick and full and he wanted to cry. Why did Frank make him eat?

“Gerard, talk to me,” he muttered, frowning at him uncertainly. Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at him. After a few minutes, he felt Frank get up, and he was sure that the younger boy had opted to leave. A small feeling of relief filled his chest when he opened them and the boy really was gone. He stood, intending to go to the bathroom and throw up the food before Ray could get home. Maybe, if he was lucky, he hadn’t yet digested his salad. 

Just as he reached entrance the the hallway, Frank emerged from the Ray’s bedroom with a movie and his phone in one hand. Gerard stared at him like a deer in the headlights, not sure what to do. Part of him wanted to run away, but this was  _ his  _ house. That would be ridiculous. His eyes landed on the bathroom door, just a few steps away. If he could reach it, then maybe…

Frank followed his eyes and frowned. The look on his face made him appear so much older than fifteen. Gerard hated that.

“You’re not allowed to go in there,” he said firmly, crossing his arms and staring hard at the older boy.

“I just need to pee, Frankie, chill,” Gerard lied easily. “Are you really saying I can’t use the bathroom in my own house?”

Frank hesitated, then shook his head pointedly. “It’s also Ray’s house, and he and Linds both said that you aren’t allowed to use the bathroom. So there.” He held up the phone, smirking triumphantly. Gerard decided not to argue - Frank was stubborn enough that he wouldn’t give in, anyway. He threw up his hands in defeat and turned back the living room, not missing the way that Frank flinched a little as though expecting to be hit. That was just because of that Bob asshole, but it made his blood boil a little bit. A kid like Frank didn’t deserve to be constantly on guard like that.

Gerard flopped onto the couch again, watching through half-lidded eyes as Frank put whatever movie he had grabbed into the TV. He wasn’t overly surprised when the main menu for Nightmare Before Christmas appeared on screen. The short boy picked up Gerard’s legs and sat on the couch, draping the back across his lap. He turned to his friend then, a small frown on his face as he pressed play.

“What, Frank?” Gee asked tiredly, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s just… why do you do it, Gee?” he asked quietly, eyes locked on his knees. He seemed to curl in on himself as he asked, crossing his arms across his stomach and closing his eyes as if still expecting a blow to the head for speaking.

“Do what?”

“The- The not eating thing, and the puking thing, and basically, not taking care of yourself.” Frank clarified, his voice still soft. He stayed silent for a moment before speaking again, voice getting stronger with each word. “It’s scary when you do that. Mikey is always telling me he’s worried about you, and Ray is always watching you, and Linds is  _ trying  _ to help, but it’s awful hard. Bren and Spence and Debby keep asking me why you hate yourself so much, and I just, I don’t know how to respond.”

Tears pricked the backs of Gerard’s eyes as he stared at his friend. He didn’t quite know what to say, searching his brain for something,  _ anything,  _ to make Frank feel better - which certainly wouldn’t be the truth. But he couldn’t lie to Frank. He had never been able to, even when they were kids, and it had always killed him to do so when it came to this. The kid deserved the truth.

“It started out as control,” he said finally, long after Frank had decided that he wasn’t even going to respond. “I mean, I was what, seventeen? It was right after you guys got onto me and Mikes about drinking - which you were right to, and I don’t blame anyone for that. But I felt like a crap person, and my fourteen-year-old baby brother had a drinking problem because I did and it felt like everything was out of my hands so at first it helped to keep track of intake and calories. To control… something.”

Gerard paused, gauging Frank’s reaction. The younger boy was listening intently, no signs of judgement on his face. He took a deep breath before continuing. “And then, I started looking in a mirror, and hating what I saw. It was like, ‘why the fuck aren’t you as perfect as you should be?’ Everyone expected me to be so fucking perfect - I’m the second oldest, I should be the responsible one, but I’m not, I’m the one that influences the younger kids to smoke and drink and do things they aren’t supposed to, and then I don’t clean up the mess.

That’s Ray and Linds, not me. I thought if I could be skinnier, better looking, I’d be living up to some of the expectations. So I just cut back some more. And more. And then it didn’t stop. Until you guys intervened last year, anyway.”

Frank nodded slowly. His eyes seemed to hold understanding that should have been far too old for him. Gerard felt bad for letting all of this out on the kid, but he needed to know. He wanted to know. He had asked.

“It’s just… a hard thing to stop doing, you know?” he said slowly, eyes leaving Frank’s face and staring at a spot on the wall above his head. “Even if it’s hurting the people I care about. But I’m trying… most of the time, I’m trying.”

Frank took this opportunity to jump up and launch himself at Gerard, eyes shining a little with unshed tears. He buried his face in the boy’s neck, fists tangling in the fabric of his t-shirt. From this close, Gerard could see the faint outline of not-quite faded bruises on his face and collar. 

“We love you, Gee,” he said, after crying into his shoulder for a good fifteen minutes. “That stuff isn't easy to stop and we know. Just say the word and Linds’ll see what she can figure out at the counseling clinic - you know, the one she volunteers at? We wanna help you, Gee.” 

Gerard nodded smiling softly. 

“It’s sometimes hard to convince myself that I need to get help,” he admitted, shrugging slightly in defeat. 

“You hate yourself that much?” Frank’s voice was almost silent. Gerard nodded reluctantly. The teenager carefully wrapped his arms around him again, and they sat like this for a long time. Just as Gee was starting to fall asleep, he thought he heard the boy mutter something that sounded like. “That’s okay. I love you.”

He decided he was imagining it, but maybe he would be okay, as long as he had Frank there to remind him he was worth something from time to time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Lindsey Ballato (Lyn-Z Way)


	6. We Don't Believe What's On TV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t care what’s in your hair,  
> I just wanna know what’s on your mind.  
> Used to say I wanna die before I’m old,  
> but because of you I might think twice.
> 
> (We Don't Believe What's On TV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short and I'm sorry. But I love Big Sis LynZ a lot, okay?
> 
> Trigger Warnings for: self-harm, references to alcoholism and suicidal thoughts, implications of underage drinking and child abuse. Also un-proofread

At twelve years old, Lindsey looked around at the little kids, piled into cuddle puddles and tripping over themselves, and decided they needed a mother. And as the oldest, she decided that would have to be her job, and she fell into it easily. 

At fourteen, Lindsey found herself studying Frank’s every flinch and bruise, worrying over the small things that seemed so big to Patrick, pulling Hayley behind as men passed them in the mall. She taught Jessica and Halsey how to get out bloodstains, had taught herself as much as she could about depression and self-harm once she had her suspicions about Mikey’s “accidents,” and she tried to pretend that Tyler’s imaginary friend “Blurryface” didn’t completely terrify her. 

At eighteen, she was really, really good at hugging, and really good at taking care of everyone, in the group or not. When Jack, who was in the same year as ‘Trick, and Frankie, and Mikes, called her at eleven at night sobbing, she was at his house in heartbeat. She never told anyone about the amount of blood covering his thigh, not even the kid’s best friend, Alex, but she kept an eye on him just in case. 

And when Andy had accidentally called her instead of Ray, she let him cry into her shoulder and dragged him to his mother afterwards, informing her that the kid needed help or things would end very, very badly.

Now she was twenty, and life as the mom was steadily getting more stressful. She stared at the notes in her hand, eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher whether they were for school or one of the kids, and if that was the case, which one. She thought it might be for Hayley - something about panic attacks was scrawled across it, as well as abusers, but as a psychology major, it could have been for class. Piled on the desk at the foot of her bed were stacks of paper similar to this. Her roommate, Alicia, was often teasing her about the mess. 

“Linds, will you look something up for me?” said girl asked, bursting through the door with her hair falling into her face. She had a guitar slung over her shoulder and a beanie dangling from her back pocket, threatening to fall to the floor at any moment. Lindsey looked up in surprise, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m not on the computer at the moment,” she replied, setting down her notes and turning her chair 360 degrees to face her. At that moment, she got a text that tore her attention from the frantic music major.

 

**From Patrick**

**Worried abt Pete - scars on arms**

 

“Fuck, Leece, I’m really sorry,” she hissed, already tugging on one of her boots. “One of my kids is having a problem right now, and I need to go.” 

Alicia frowned watching Lindsey throw her bag over her shoulder and tie half of her black hair into a pigtail at the same time. “Yeah, sure,” she said, uncertainly, not bothering to ask. Something about the chaotic group of teenagers that Lindsey spent her time with unsettled her, but she had learned not to question things. She had only ever seen the girl get defensive a few times, and each time was over them.

Lindsey was tough. She had been ever since she got teased by the other little girls in kindergarten for wanting to play Lego and Rockstars with Ray and Gee, a year younger and thus “babies,” instead of dolls and house. Everything rolled right off her back, unless you dared to comment on her friends. Alicia had made the mistake of saying Frank needed to stand up for himself against Bob, once. Lindsey had nearly punched her in the face, and had ignored her completely for a week straight. (This ended when Alicia restrung her bass in an attempt to apologize. It worked. Very, very well.)

Lindsey was surprised to find that Pete was home alone when she appeared on his doorstep, looking like a total mess. It was a Friday, which typically meant that at least one of the others would be there for a sleepover, usually Patrick or Andy or Joe. The emptiness behind Pete was almost worrying. If Patrick was so concerned, why had he left his best friend alone?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes half-lidded against the sunlight. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and Lindsey had to resist reaching out to pull them back up. That would be taking the caregiving thing a little too far. 

“Can I talk to you?” she asked, slowly edging towards the house. Pete nodded slowly, standing aside to let her slip through the door. 

“Mom’s home - she’s sleeping,” he yawned, leading her to the basement. Neither of them spoke until the door was safely shut and they were both settled on the couch. Pete curled himself around one of the throw pillows, peering up from under his lashes, looking like a small child, if that small child had bright pink hair.

“Whatcha wanna talk about?” he slurred. 

Lindsey frowned leaning a little closer to him. The acrid scent of alcohol was strong on his breath. Her stomach clenched a little. Pete didn’t drink when he was alone. None of them did. And he especially didn’t drink when either of his parents were home. It wasn’t safe. And his fake ID was crap, so who was it that bought him the booze? When she found out, she’d have to have a long talk with them - if she could keep herself from wrapping her hands around their neck for being so stupid.

“I want to talk about you, Pete,” she said, looking around the basement for stray beer bottles. Three of them lay around the wastebasket in the corner. “Are you alone?”

“Uh huh,” he said, shrugging a little. “Ashlee was here, but I had ‘er leave ‘cause I was too drunk and don’ like ‘er like that anymore.” 

“Like her like what Pete?” Lindsey asked gently, laying a cautious hand on his shoulder.

“Don’ wanna have sex with her,” he said lazily, shrugging again. “I like some’un else.” 

“Who do you like?” Pete was surprisingly honest when he was drunk, Lindsey knew, so she couldn’t help but pry. There was a bet on who the kid would end up with and (though she would deny it with a smirk, if asked) she had bet on-

“Trick! My best friend in the whole entire world!” Pete’s smile was wide and cheesy, as if he couldn’t think of anyone better. His eyes were unfocused however, which sort of took away from the cuteness of it all.

Lindsey smiled privately. She was right! “Why don’t you tell him that?” she asked, still cautious with every word. If Patrick was right, she had to coax him into things.

“‘Cause he doesn’ need someone like me. I’m too much t’ handle,” he replied sadly, hanging his head. Lindsey’s breath caught in her throat.

“You’re not to much to handle, why would you ever think that?” she asked softly, blinking back tears. This was not the time for her to be getting emotional, damn it!

Pete looked up at her from under his lashes, lower lip quivering a bit. He curled himself a little tighter, trying defend himself from the words that were going to come out of his mouth. Or so she thought. She was a little surprised when he held up his arms wordlessly, letting her gently take his hands and push up his sleeves. She couldn’t quite prevent the gasp that escaped her lips.

His wrists were covered in layer after layer of fresh red gashes and scars. Lindsey could see why no one had noticed before now - they were a very small area of neat, precise lines on his left wrist, where he constantly wore a stack handmade and store-bought bracelets. On his right wrist, the marks were more jagged, probably because he was using his non-dominant hand, but they also remained layered over the same small strip of skin, which was usually covered by a checkered wristband. 

“Oh, Pete, honey,” Lindsey said, pulling him into her arms. When she got the text from ‘Trick, she thought maybe they were new, Pete’s first time hurting himself, or somewhere around that. But this, this was so much worse than she thought. Pete had clearly been doing this for a longer time than he would ever admit. “This changes nothing, kiddo. Nothing. You aren’t too much. You’re perfect. You’ve just had some struggles. That’s okay. It’s okay. I promise, you’re okay.”

“Lin’sey,” he mumbled into her shoulder, which was now damp from his tears. “‘M sleepy.”

“Okay, honey, let’s get you to bed,” she said softly, pulling his arm over his shoulder. She half-carried the boy up the stairs and to his bedroom. On the way back to her dorm, she couldn’t help but wonder how things had ended up like this.

* * *

“Z, just let me-”

“Oh my God, Gee, it’s  _ my  _ freakin’ eyeliner,” Lindsey laughed, ducking out of the way as his hands went to grab her face. She elbowed him back between the seats, but he was quick to poke his head back up. “Leave me alone, you massive nerd.”

“But, Z,” he whined, stopping long enough to pout at her and flash hilariously pathetic puppy dog eyes at her. “It’s not thick enough.” 

Lindsey rolled her eyes, laughing at the pout on his face. “It’s a cat eye, Gee, and I’ll have you know it took me ages to perfect.” 

Gerard sighed loudly, leaning back in the backseat of Ray’s car. Ray chuckled, shaking his head. “Where we headed?” Ray asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Tankards. You guys deserve some fun.”

Ray and Lindsey both frowned at the boy perched in the backseat. Tankards was the only bar in this part of the world that didn’t card. The fact that Gerard wanted to go there couldn’t be good. Lindsey glanced at Ray, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. They had come so far - she didn’t want him to end up like he was, to the point where he didn’t even want to live anymore. Not on their account.

“Let’s go to Coffee’s for Closers instead,” she said finally, sending Ray a serious glance. “I wanna go make fun of Mikey for having to work. Way more fun than being around a bunch of drunken idiots.” 

Ray nodded and agreed with her. A small part of Gerard looked disappointed, but he quickly masked it with relief. They would definitely be watching him a little closer for a while, Lindsey decided.

* * *

 

Lindsey looked around Pete’s basement, sending a quick Snapchat to Alicia with the caption,  _ ‘babiesss.’  _ Alicia sent a selfie with rolled eyes back, and she had to resist the urge to giggle. Jamia let out a frustrated sound from the bathroom, poking her head out and pouting with small frown on her face.

“Z!” she whined, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “They won’t stop  _ moving _ !” 

Lindsey giggled a little and trotted into the tightly packed bathroom. She forced Frank to sit on the counter, running a hand through his short hair and peering at the brown roots that were steadily growing in. “Okay, you are gonna stay really fucking still, or you’re going back to brunet,” she remarked, tugging pointedly on a lock just behind his ear.

“Yes, Mom,” he said quickly, cowering a little in a way that made Lindsey frown.

Next, she rounded on Gerard, who kept ducking away jokingly as Jamia reached for him with red hair-dye and gloved hands. “You’re going to stay still, or you’ll live with nasty-ass, washed out orange.”

“Yes, Mom!” he replied, a small smile sliding onto his lips. She rolled her eyes.

Finally, she turned to Pete, shaking her finger at him warningly at him as he wiggled in his spot in the sink. “Do you want me to shave it all off?” she threatened. Pete shook his head quickly.

“No mom!” he yelped, hands raising to cover his hair. She nodded firmly, patting each of the (actual children, swear to freaking God) boys on the head. 

“Good. You boys be good for Jamia, or you do  _ not  _ want to know what will happen,” she threatened. Then she smiled gently at them and made her way back into the rest of the basement to watch a movie with Brendon, Ryan, Spencer, Tyler, and Josh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Pete Wentz


	7. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will fear the night again.  
> I hope I’m not my only friend.  
> Stay alive, stay alive,   
> for me. 
> 
> (Truce)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I do when I should be doing half a million projects. Also, Tyler is a smol babe and I wanted to put his story in here, considering I don't exactly have plans for a chapter about it. So, yeah.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: References to self harm, attempted suicide

Waking up in the hospital, Pete had decided, was extremely unsettling, but it was thousand times when you didn’t want to wake up in first place. Pete really wanted to rip out his IV, find a corner and die. Or get someone to smuggle him a plastic knife “for eating” and slit his wrists. Luckily (or unluckily), the whole… situation with Frank and his dad (dads? Step-dad? Pete wasn’t even sure how to phrase it) took his and everyone else’s minds off of him for a while, for which he was grateful.

He didn’t have some huge realization after waking up in that hospital bed like, “Holy shit, nevermind, I don’t want to be dead after all,” but no one really noticed. His friends were so preoccupied with making sure that he was okay, they sort of forgot to make sure he was actually okay.

After Pete went home, he spent the rest of his senior year in and out of his new psychiatrist’s office, until he got fed up and told his mom they had helped all that they could. She had let him stop going, believing him to be “better,” but there was no such thing as better, anymore. Not for Pete.

He got good at faking smiles and laughter, even better than he had been before, even though he still saw Joe and Patrick and Andy watching him carefully from the corners of their eyes when they thought he wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t mess up like that again, especially not now that his friends knew what to look for.

* * *

The second time Pete woke up in a hospital bed, he was all alone.

No friends surrounded him and slept at odd angles, bringing in food at odd hours, and cracking jokes to keep him entertained. For the entirety of his three-day hospital trip, Pete was alone, with only his parents and the nurses, Lily, Shelley, and Hannah for company. (Strangely enough he was okay with this. Hannah was especially nice, as she understood in a way that no one else ever did.)

Don’t get him wrong, Pete’s friends cared. If they had known he was in the hospital again, that he had tried  _ again _ , they would have been at his side in a heartbeat. But that was the thing - they didn’t know. Pete made sure of it. They had enough on their plates, and were still reeling from Hayley’s abandonment, still painfully recent. They didn’t need to fret over him like they had the previous year. 

When someone tries to kill themselves, the last thing they want to do is be reminded of it. At least, that’s what Pete told his mother when she signed him up for a group therapy session at the local counselling center. 

“Please, Mom,” he begged as she parked the car. “It’s not a big deal - I won’t do it again.” His mother sighed, running a hand through her hair. 

“Well, guess what, Pete?” she said. “I refuse to let this happen again. This is the second time. How do you think I felt when I found you lying on the floor in a pool of your own blood?” There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, and Pete felt painfully guilty. If there was one thing he hadn’t meant to do, it was hurt his mother.

“I’m nineteen,” he mumbled, crossing his arms. “Legally, I can have a choice in the matter.” 

His mother shook her head. “Your choices extend about as far as your friends not knowing,” she said. “It’s been a little over a year, Pete. We turned down therapy the last time… this is the last step before the psych ward, sweetie. I don’t want to lose you.”

Her words hit Pete like a punch in the gut. He knew she was trying to be supportive, that she was just desperate to keep her son alive, but she had just threatened to have him locked up. It hurt, knowing that she was at her wit’s end with him.

“Fine,” he huffed, opening the car door. “I’ll try.”  _ For you, _ was left unsaid, but Pete was pretty sure they both knew it was there.

When he finally found the room which his therapy group was gathered in, he was the sixth person there.There were two older men standing in a corner, who Pete guessed were the counsellors. He remembered thinking it odd that there were two of them. Pete paid no mind to two of the other people, but he was startled when he recognized the small brown-haired boy who seemed to be folded into himself in one of the chairs.

He found himself settling into a chair next to her. “Hey, Tyler,” he said softly, leaning back and crossing his arms. The younger boy jumped, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Pete?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. He pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his knuckles. “What… what the Hell are you doing here?”

Pete smiled, feigning casualty. “I could ask you that yourself,” he said.  Tyler’s face colored guiltily and he looked at the floor.

While Pete was preoccupied with Tyler, the rest of the group had shuffled into the room. One of the guys, one with (slightly) less messy brown hair, clapped his hands in a way that made Pete wince. “Hey guys,” he said, looking half-enthusiastic and half-serious.   
“Welcome to both our new and old faces. If you’re new, then I’m Mark, and this is Billie Joe,” he gestured to the black haired man who was still leaning against the wall. “First things first, let’s go around introducing ourselves.” Pete mentally groaned. 

He spaced out, really not caring too much about the people he would be forced to see about once a week. He only tuned back in when the circle got to Tyler. He stood up a little shakily, crossing his arms in front of his chest and flashing an awkward smile.

“I’m Tyler,” he said, maybe a little too brightly. “I’m fifteen. I absolutely love music. I’m here because my mother thinks I’ve gone insane.” He sent Billie Joe and Mark odd looks, and made to sit down.

Billie Joe cleared his throat. “ _ And? _ ” he prompted gently, smiling slightly in a way that was oddly comforting. Tyler stopped, straightening back up. He stared at the floor for a moment.

“And because I have really bad depression and it’s really hard to fight sometimes,” he said softly, hurrying to sit back down. Tyler kept his gaze trained on her knees, refusing to acknowledge Pete, who was staring at him in concern.

It was silent for a few seconds before Pete realized that he was supposed to introduce himself to the group. He stood up, crossing his arms to keep his hands from shaking. “I’m Pete,” he said, glancing around at the unfamiliar faces. His eyes found Mark’s, who smiled at him reassuringly. “I’m nineteen. I play bass, and I’m here because, um,” he glanced at Tyler for a moment. “Because I tried to kill myself for the second time in a little over a year.” 

“What?” Tyler asked softly, brown eyes wide and worried. Pete shook his head quickly and sat in his seat, refusing to look at the younger boy. It wasn’t an easy task, with the concerned puppy eyes Tyler was sporting. How Josh ever resisted those things, Pete would never know.

Pete didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the session. When it ended, he was the first one out the door, but Tyler caught up to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him down a hallway. The younger boy peered around the corner for a moment, pushing Pete back so that he couldn’t be seen. After a few seconds, he leaned back, sighing heavily.

“That was close,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“What was close?” Pete asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Linds is here,” Tyler explained, his hands shaking slightly. “Figured you didn’t want her to know, considering you didn’t tell anyone about… you know. Family emergency, my foot, by the way.”

Pete felt his stomach twist in guilt. That was the lie he had told his friends when they asked about his four day disappearance. It had hurt to tell them that, and it hurt even more when Tyler threw it back in his face. 

Tyler grabbed his arm with a sigh, tugging him out of the center and towards the sidewalk. They walked a little way in silence before either of them spoke again. “You lied to us, Pete,” he said, finally, his eyes on the cement. “Why did you lie to us?”

Pete’s face hardened, and he pulled his arm away from the boy. “You don’t get it,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Then explain it to me,” Tyler begged, biting his lower lip. “Because what I’m seeing is someone who didn’t tell the people he cares about -  _ his family -  _ how much he was hurting. We could have helped you.”

Pete blinked hard, trying to push the tears from his eyes. “You’re one to talk,” he said after a moment of tense silence. “‘I have really bad depression and it’s hard to fight sometimes.’ I didn’t know about that.” 

Tyler winced, stopping in his tracks. Pete stopped as well, turning to look at him in concern. “I’ll explain it to you if you explain it to me,” he said softly, nodding towards a bench just a little further down the street. Pete thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement, holding his hand out with a goofy smile for the younger boy to take.

“There isn’t much to say,” Tyler started once they were sitting. “You know how I was picked on a lot when I was younger because of ‘Blurryface?’” He waited for Pete to confirm this, which he did. He remembered the kid’s creepy imaginary friend pretty well, unfortunately, and the bullies that came with it. “They didn’t like letting up, kept calling me weird and crazy even after I let go of Blurry. The stuff they said hurt, and when they found out I’m bi, it just got worse. I had you guys, and even when you were busy, I had Josh.”

Tyler paused for a minute, staring at his knees. Pete wanted to give Tyler a hug, but he was worried that the kid would run away if he did.

“But it was just so bad. It still sort of is. Then the bad stuff in my head started. I hear the things they say to me, I hear all the hate and it just sort of spirals until I try to cut it out or… or...  or something. Lindsey knows, and Gerard, and Josh, and I think Mikey, too, but that’s it. I was going to tell everyone, but then you were in the hospital and Frank’s trial and then Hayley and I just felt like it wasn’t important.”

Pete placed his head in his hands when Tyler finished talking. When he looked up, his eyes were slightly red, and his palms were wet. “You never tried to… did you?” he asked gently. 

Tyler shrugged, staring his hands as if studying the way his fingers were twisted together in his lap. “Josh stopped me,” he said, smiling lopsidedly. Pete’s heart cracked a little at the words. He couldn’t believe he didn’t notice. God, he was an awful friend, an awful role model, an awful… everything really. 

It was only fair that he spilled everything to him, then, and the words starting falling out of his mouth before he could stop him. He explained how awful he felt, how much he hated himself, how he felt so stupid and guilty and just wanted things to stop. He hated that he liked Patrick when he was supposed to like Ashlee, he hated that he had made everyone worry about him, he hated that he was short and stupid, he hated  _ him. _ He didn’t remember what, exactly, had led him to slitting his wrists, or swallowing those pills that first night, but he was terrified that it would crop up again, and he wouldn’t care how he went. 

When he and Tyler went their separate ways that night, Pete felt a little bit lighter. Now he just had to tell ‘Trick, and the others eventually. And maybe he could hurt a little less, in time.

* * *

Pete’s hands shook as he held his phone to his ear. It seemed to ring endlessly, and he got shakier and more scared the longer he waited for Patrick to pick up.

“Pete? Can’t sleep again?” he said finally, when he finally picked up the phone. For a second, Pete worried that he was angry, but the younger boy’s tone was caring, almost amused, not at all upset or annoyed that he had been woken at oh-god-o-clock (three AM, to be exact) on a Thursday.

“Don’t wanna think, Tricky, it hurts too bad,” he whined, feeling a little pathetic. He heard Patrick sitting up, moving around, the creaking of his closet door.

“Are you okay? Where are you?” he sounded frantic. Pete wondered why, then shrugged, knocking back another mouthful of the bitter, cheap beer he held in his hand. 

“‘M fine, jus’ a lil drunk,” he said, shrugging. “And a lil sad, but I’m always so fucking sad, aren’t I?” He laughed humorlessly, and Patrick’s breath caught in his throat.

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III,” he hissed, yanking on his coat - it was March, it was still cold, especially at night. He nearly tripped over the untied laces of his Converse, and spoke the next sentence through gritted teeth and a lump of fear in his throat. “Where are you?”

“I got a long name,” Pete laughed, fingernails digging into his thigh. “‘M in the basement. Always in the basement, ‘Trick. Maybe I’ll even die in the basement.”

Patrick gasped. Pete frowned, ignoring the way his thigh began to sting as his nails finally broke the skin. “Don’t say that, Pete. Are you home alone?” 

“Yeah.” There was nothing else to say. Pete listened to Patrick’s shallow, anxious breaths on the other line, and tried not to think about anything. Because thinking led to hating and hurting and dying. He didn’t want to die. That was why he had called Patrick in the first place.

“Andy and Joe are gonna head that way, I’ll be right behind them,” said boy was saying, and Pete hadn’t even realized the silence was because he had texted the others. “Is the door unlocked?” 

This was wrong. They weren’t supposed to rush to his side - well, maybe Patrick was, but not Andy, not Joe. He hadn’t wanted to bother them, hadn’t called them on purpose. He didn’t want to trigger Andy, he didn’t want to make Joe climb out of bed because Pete had gone crazy again. They didn’t need to worry.

“Pete!” 

“Hm?” Had he zoned out? He hadn’t noticed. 

“The door. Is it unlocked?” Patrick sounded worried. Pete could hear him opening the squeaky cabinet doors in his kitchen, moving things around. He heard one close a little too loudly, and the younger boy hissed out a curse under his breath.

“Yeah, I never lock it when I’m alone.” It was probably the most understandable sentence he’d said all night. Was he getting sober again? He knocked back what remained the beer can, just to be sure he wasn’t. “What’cha doin’, Patty?”

“You’ll see.” There was a smile in Patrick’s words as he said them. It was something special, he knew it was. 

There were voices upstairs, asking where Pete was. He didn’t bother answering - it was probably Andy and Joe, and they would head down here soon enough. He was right, too, as soon there were footsteps on the stairs and Joe’s curly hair came into view. Something landed on his stomach, something Andy had thrown, and he almost laughed out loud when he saw the tube of eyeliner in his hands. 

“Pete? Are Joe and Andy there?” 

“Yeah, they are.” 

A sigh of relief. “I’m gonna hang up now. I’ll be there soon.” The line went dead. Pete felt a little emptier at the absence of Patrick’s voice in his ear. 

“You left that at my house,” Andy said with a small smile, sitting in the big bean bag chair next to Pete’s bungee seat. He didn’t say another word, but he did silently slide the six-pack (now missing two) away from Pete. He frowned a little at the loss of the booze. 

Joe plopped next to Andy, and pretended not to notice the older boy’s blush when he nearly landed in his lap. He kicked off his shoes and threw a bag of cheddar popcorn at Pete. “You’re an idiot, Wentz,” he sighed, but his smile proved he didn’t mean it. “Good on calling Patrick, though. You got MarioKart down here or upstairs?” 

“Here,” Pete blinked, sitting forward to rummage through the pile of games in front of the ring of comfy seats on the floor. He pulled up the Wii game and held up victoriously, handing it over to Joe. “What d’ya want it for?”

“We’re gonna play, and I’m gonna destroy you because you’re drunk off your ass,” Joe nodded, getting up to put the game in. When Patrick finally appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a pot of - was that soup? - and a plate of grilled cheeses, they were waiting impatiently with the character screen up. 

They talked throughout the night (or was it morning), until Pete was basically sober and Patrick was falling asleep as they played round after round of MarioKart. No one mentioned why they had come, but Pete knew he’d be interrogated in the morning. He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt them to find out just what he was inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Frank Iero


	8. Goner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though I'm weak  
> Beaten down  
> I'll slip away  
> Into the sound  
> The ghost of you  
> Is close to me
> 
> (Goner)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idek. I'm on Spring Break now, though, so maybe? there will be more faster idk for sure, my notes for the next chapter suck soooo yikies, no promising anything
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Child abuse, implied rape/non-con, transphobia, homophobia
> 
> FTM Frank is a thing in this verse tho fyi, which Imma address in the end note

Frank was awoken by his phone’s incessant dinging. He groaned, wincing as the harsh light from it’s screen lit up his face.

_\---_

_-mikeyway has added frnkiero to the chat!-_

_geeWhiz: you thought you could avoid us but no_

_Tricky: go back to bed guys, it’s too early for this_

_dallon’s daddy: lol it isnt early if u havent gone to bed yet_

_dadlonmemes: Beebo y tf is that ur name_

_dadlonmemes: wtf who changed my name_

_dallon’s daddy: idfk im too lazy 2 change it back lololol_

_dallon’s daddy: hahahahahA DADLON MEMES_

_dallon’s daddy: I LOVE IT_

_Tricky: okay so we solved that mystery_

_dallon’s daddy: lol no I didn’t do iT_

_dallon’s daddy: it*_

_geeWhiz: jfc go to bed children_

_mikeyway: shu t up Gee ur not our dad_

_Tricky: he sort of is though, him and Ray. They’re like our dads if you thnk about it._

_dallon’s daddy: bc theYRE OOOOLD_

_Rayoffucknsunshine: yes we are now GO TO BED some people have class in the morning_

_eteP: aww but I just got here!!!_

_Rayoffucknsunshine: Pete you’re part of ‘some people’ you idiot_

_Tricky: g2g bye_

_eteP: DAMN IT PATRICK COME BACK HERE_

_-Tricky has left the conversation!-_

_frnkiero: you guys suck you woke me up._

_eteP: if trick comes back lemme know_

_JoeTroh: tf is tihs mess and how did i get here_

_JoeTroh: andy ik ur reading everything i can see u from the bed_

_dadlonmemes: noice Andy_

_mikeyway: ;))))))_

_dallon’s daddy: Andy Hurley: group chat ninja_

_vegansauce: (:_

_dallon’s daddy: why is iT BACKWARDS_

_dadlonmemes: ok so Brendon’s drunk_

_dadlonmemes: also Brendon seriously plz change ur namE_

_dallon’s daddy: I THOUght yOU LoBED mE_

_mikeyway: ;)))))))))))_

_JoeTroh: ;)))))))_

_frnkiero: I’m goign back to bed yall need jesus_

_frnkiero: also literally half of u have some for of school 2morrow and if ur complainin about being rired im going to kick ur ass_

_\---_

Frank promptly turned his phone off, not even bothering to wait for anyone to protest. He rolled onto his side to face the wall and stifled a groan as the mattress connected with a bruise on his thigh from the last time Bob decided to mess with him in the locker room. Shifting a little so it didn’t hurt as badly seemed like too much effort, however, so he ignored it, relieved when the pain slowly ebbed away.

It seemed like only a matter of minutes before his alarm was honking away, waking Frank before he had enough sleep to really be considered “rested.” He groaned loudly, dragging himself out of bed to turn the thing off. He really just wanted to his snooze and roll back over, but his mother would probably be in any minute to make sure he was awake.

Frank forced himself to search for a pair of clean black jeans and a clean Misfits shirt, rather than picking mildly dirty clothes up off the floor. (After all, he’d be seeing Gerard after school, and he didn’t want to look and smell _completely_ disgusting.) He dragged himself into the kitchen and was overjoyed to see a stack of pancakes waiting for him on the table.

Just as he sat down to eat, his mother appeared, looking tired. “Frank, honey, I have to talk to you.” Something about the way she said his name made his fork stop in its path to his mouth.

“You know how they were looking for your father - for the case, I mean?” Ms. Iero asked softly, her voice breaking a little around the words. Frank felt his heart leap to his throat and he pushed his pancakes away. He should have known they were pity pancakes.

“Yeah,” Frank mumbled, inspecting the patterns in the wood of the table. His mother sighed, covering her face with her hands for a moment before looking back up.

“They can’t find him,” she said finally. “It’s like he disappeared. And, knowing your father, you may be in danger if he finds out they’re looking for him - both of us could be.”  

Frank felt like he was going to be sick. “H-he…” he couldn’t even get the words out. The mental image of his father screaming at him, hitting him, yelling at him to stop crying attacked him full force. The relative safety he had felt with the knowledge that his step-father was successfully put behind bars disappeared, and he felt just as vulnerable as ever.

“Frank, honey, are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” he managed, though he knew he wasn’t. “I have to get to school. I’ll see you tonight - I’m going to Mikey’s after school, but I’ll be home by dinner.”

Mrs. Iero jumped to her feet, following Frank to the door where he stopped to pull on his shoes. “Let me drive you,” she said hurriedly, tugging a sweater over her sleep shirt. Frank wanted to decline her offer, but he knew that she was just worried. To be honest, he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of walking to school with the new knowledge that his father could be somewhere out there, waiting for him.

“Sure,” he smiled, “But we’ll have to pick Mikey up on the way.”

When Frank and his mother pulled up to the Way’s, Mikey was waiting outside as per usual. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the car, but otherwise made no indication that this was at all out of the ordinary. “Hi, Mrs. Iero,” he said as he folded his long limbs into the cramped backseat on Frank’s side of the small two-door, much to Frank’s amusement and his mother’s exasperation.

“Honey, you should have let him sit in front,” she berated her son, looking at Mikey apologetically.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Iero.”

“Call me Linda, darling, you know that,” she said with a smile. For some reason, she had always like Mikey. It annoyed Frank to no end.

The short ride to school was filled with idle chatter, on Frank’s mother’s part, and mirthful side eyeing between Frank and Mikey. When they finally reached the school Mikey breathed a sigh of relief as he spilled out of the small car, and Frank had to stifle a laugh with his hand. They waved his mother off, before Mikey turned to him with a frown.

“So that was weird,” he said, eyes scanning the crowd behind Frank for their friends. The benefit of being known as the ‘emos’ at their school was the fact that most everyone avoided them to the point of it being a little pathetic. “You okay, man?” he added when Frank didn’t respond.

“Huh? Yeah,” Frank replied, tugging on Mikey’s sleeve and pointing at the stairs where Josh and Brendon were telling a story that included a lot of jumping and hand gestures. Mikey smiled and led the way through the throng of teenagers, his height and steely glare cutting a path through them in a way that Frank would only hope to achieve one day.

They sent each other looks as they approached to hear the words “a dog would suck better dick” come out of Brendon’s mouth. Patrick had his nose scrunched up in disgust, clearly not thrilled with that stunning mental image.

“You’re disgusting, Urie,” Frank snapped, though the quirk of his lips showed he didn’t mean it. “Defiling poor dogs that way.”

“At least I’ve defiled _something,_ ” Brendon shot back teasingly. His face paled as he realized what he said, and he looked around at his friends frantically. “Wait. Wait. I didn’t mean it that way, fuck guys that was a mistake! I take it back, I take it back!”

Jamia snickered, looking up from braiding Debby’s hair. “Too late, you already said it,” she replied. Her eyes landed on Frank and she frowned. “Something wrong, Frankie?”

All eyes were on him now, and Frank shifted uncomfortably at the attention. Though he wasn’t like Patrick, who seemed to have a weird aversion to being looked at for any length of time and tended to hide behind Joe’s (only slightly) taller frame, Frank wasn’t overly fond of people staring at him. Especially not when apparently it was plain as day that he wasn’t particularly fine this morning.

“It’s nothing, guys,” he said hurriedly, anxious to put his friends worries to rest. _Nothing you need to know._

Mikey and Patrick continued to watch him suspiciously, even after the bell rang and they

were forced to disperse to their separate classes. Mikey walked with Patrick and Frank to their first period Pre-Calc class, before he headed towards his own classroom, which he never did. Frank could feel Patrick’s eyes on him from his seat at the far end of the room throughout the entire lesson. It made Frank want to scream. As it was, he settled for opening the group chat and typing out a simple _“srsly guys im f i n e”_ and leaving the chat.

He knew Patrick had seen the message when the other boy began glaring harder at the side of his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was fine, really. Just a little shaken up, and yeah, maybe sort of terrified that his dad would appear out of nowhere or something. But really, given the circumstances that had be expected.

Not that he would tell anyone that.

* * *

 

Frank carded his fingers through Gerard’s hair, eyes half closed as he watched the dumb reality show that played on the television. It had been a long day, and sleep felt like a really, really good idea. He had just closed his eyes and shifted Gerard’s head so he could stretch his short legs, when the door to the older boy’s apartment burst open. Frank jumped to his feet, knocking Gee from the couch and hefting his Chemistry book into his arms. He held it threateningly over his head, until he saw that it was Jamia and Lindsey.

“Scary,” Jamia teased, plopping into the threadbare armchair by the door. “What d’you think, Linds? You scared of Frank?”

Lindsey grinned, raising her eyebrows at Frank, though something in her eyes gave away a hint of concern. “Terrified. Chemistry is a frightening subject, Frankie. Good job.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at Gerard, who was pouting up at him from the floor. “I’ve just been… jumpy today.”

Mikey appeared over his shoulder holding a bowl of mac and cheese. “Yes, you have,” he agreed, leaning against the back of the couch. “You okay, Frank?” Frank nodded, and Gerard grunted, attempting to pull himself up from the floor with the help of the worn coffee table. It was just another day in Ray and Gee’s apartment, but Frank was on edge and anxious after the news he had gotten from his mother.

Frank didn’t miss the way the others - particularly the girls - were studying him. He probably looked the picture of disconcerting. His mouth was turned down at the corners, eyes locked on the carpet and hair falling into his eyes. Mikey, he knew, was probably ignoring it, hoping that if something was wrong, Frank would tell them. Too bad Frank just wasn’t that kind of person.

It wasn’t until he and Jamia were walking home, and she noticed the tense way he held himself, peeking over his shoulder every couple of minutes as if he were expecting to be followed, that anyone said anything to him.

“Okay, spill,” she snapped, crossing her arms against the cold. Frank jumped at the sudden bite in her tone, and she narrowed her eyes at the action.

“Spill what?” he asked, feigning casualty. Jamia wouldn’t understand the paranoia, the way he winced every time he heard a car drive by, expecting it to slow down and yank him inside. The only one who would even begin to understand was Hayley, and, well… she was unreachable at the moment.

Jamia rolled her eyes, stopping just long enough to stomp a heavy, steel-toed boot against the pavement. “Why you’re so fucking jumpy,” she clarified, waving a hand in the air. “It’s not like you, Frankie. I haven’t seen you like this since your stepdad got arrested. What’s going on?”

And there she was, looking at him with those damned puppy eyes. Jamia could give Gee a run for his money with the puppy eyes. Frank groaned, pulling his hood up and tugging it over his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, pout working its way onto his face. “I’ll tell you. Just put those things away - they’re fucking dangerous.”

Jamia grinned, blinking and watching the pavement as it passed under their feet, her signal to start talking. Frank mentally hit himself. Damn it, what had he just agreed to? He couldn’t lie to Jamia.

“Dad’s gone missing,” he said quickly. “It could mean bad news for me.”

Jamia looked like she was trying to take the news as calmly and rationally as possible, but Frank could see her freaking out under the surface. “Is there anything I could do?” she offered. Frank knew she was sincere. She would probably do anything to keep him safe, barring hiding him at her house. Her dad was an alcoholic and a bit of an angry drunk - that wouldn’t end well and Frank didn’t need anyone else beating him up, thanks.

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling to make her believe it. They walked the rest of the way in silence. Frank thought that would be that, until Jamia kept walking with him upon reaching their ancient townhome complex, rather than breaking off to head to her home.

“Just in case,” she said, standing at the end of his sidewalk as Frank unlocked the door. She hurried to his side to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and took off towards her house on the other side of the complex. He watched leave through the window, too paranoid to stand outside alone.

* * *

_“Momma, I’m not a girl - I’m a boy.”_

_Frank is small, too small to understand what’s going on. Daddy glares at him each time the words leave his mouth, every time he reminds someone he’s “ **Frank** ” not Francesca. He swears at him, and hisses at Momma, and raises his hand when Frank corrects him again, claiming he’ll “beat some sense into _ her _.”_

 _Once he leaves the room, Frank is left sobbing in_ ** _his_ ** _bed, clinging to the guardrail. **His** face stings where Daddy’s hands left painful red marks on his skin. _

_They were gone by morning._

_\---_

_Frank is older now, cowering in bed as he hears Momma yelling at Daddy to “stop, stop, please, please stop.” When Daddy’s done hurting her, the front door slams and Momma slips into the shower._

_She comes into Frank’s room after and holds him tight, promises him they’ll be okay and calling him ‘Frank.’ They both pretend not to notice the dark bruises littering her arms and thighs and torso, newer and bright against her pale skin._

_\---_

_Frank let it slip that Bob is bullying him, and Daddy tells him to take it like a man, if he wants to be one. When Frank says he does, Daddy kicks him down to show him what that means. Frank thinks that if_ that _is what being a man is, he doesn’t know that he wants to be one._

_\---_

_Frank never cries. Not even when Daddy kicks him down for dropping his plate. Not even when he has to clean it up after, as Momma sobbed and Daddy slapped her and kicked him in the stomach, then sent him to bed without dinner. Not even he threw up in the wastebasket by his desk (stupid, pink flowered thing that it is) and it was nothing by bile and a bit of blood._

_Not even when Daddy stuffs him into dresses and swears that he’ll never, ever, ever be a boy._

_Girls cry. Frank doesn’t want to be a girl._

* * *

Frank woke up with tears staining his face, gasping for air as he imagines the terror in his chest when he saw the blood. He shakily pulled himself out of bed, going to the closet and opening it with stiff fingers. He could see them from his position on the ground, the bundles of pink, lacy fabric shoved on the highest shelf. Those stupid dresses, the banes of his existence when he was small.

His phone vibrated in the pocket of his over sized sweatpants, and **he** , embarrassingly, squeaked in alarm. He nearly dropped it in the process of pulling it out and answering, and when he heard Gee’s voice, he nearly started sobbing.

“Jamia told me what happened,” the older boy started, quick and to the point. Part of Frank wanted to know why he’s wide awake at two in the morning, how he knew that Frank needed him. It’s pointless, though. Gerard won’t be sidetracked until he gets out what he needs to say. “Are you okay, did you have a nightmare?”

“‘M fine, Gee,” Frank yawns, walking backwards to  **his** bed. **He** settles on it and taps his nails on **his** knee, shaking a little more than he probably should be. “Tired.”

Gerard sighs, and Frank can practically hear Frank and him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right, Frankie,” Frank winces at the nickname because it’s _girly_ and right now the last thing he needs is girly. “I know how the nightmares get you.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” he says softly.

“Bullshit. Hang on, I have to call you back,” Gerard snaps. Frank flinches at his tone, but he lets the older boy hang up and curls into a ball in the corner of his bed as he waits. He pulls a blanket around him, so he is cocooned against the wall with no light but that of his phone screen as he shakily plays a game, dragging a finger across the screen and trying not to cry.

Gerard doesn’t end up calling back. Instead there’s a soft pounding on the door downstairs, and Frank _knows_ it has to be him, because he’s that kind of person. Frank also knows that he isn’t wearing his binder, and even though they’ve had a thousand sleepovers, and he’s seen him in his pajamas before but he can’t be seen now, he can’t. Plus, there’s always a chance that it could be his dad, and that’s just not one he’s willing to take.

Eventually, he hears his mother’s soft footsteps padding down the hall to the door and the knocking stops. There’s the soft, muted sound of voices downstairs, before Linda Iero is gently pushing open the door and helping Frank to pull on his binder in the dark and sending him down to the living room where Gee is waiting (im)patiently on the couch. He stands and crushes the small boy ( _“small because you’re not really a boy”_ **his** mind screams at him, and he’s pretty sure that’s his father’s voice, but he shoves it back) into a hug.

“Ray says he would be here, but, like, he’s got work early tomorrow,” Gerard says, pressing a kiss into Frank’s head, and _fuck,_ it shouldn’t feel so _right_ . ( " _Tranny and a fag, wow, could you get anymore queer?”_ his father’s voice asks and he wants to cry, so he presses his face into Gee’s shirt.)

“Frank, honey, calm down,” he begged, smoothing out the younger boy’s hair and pressing more kisses into it, dragging him over to the couch. Normally Gee wasn’t very touchy-feely, but when it came to Frank, he would do anything. The kid didn’t deserve to feel like this.

“Sc-Scared,” Frank sobbed, choking on the word. It hurt to get out. Gerard spotted Linda hovering in the doorway with concern, but he smiled at her over Frank’s head, and waved her away. She nodded and disappeared, and he continued shushing the teenager.

“What are you scared of, Frank? Is it him? Is that why?” Gee asked, fighting the surge of anger at the thought of Frank Sr. ever touching a hair on the kid’s head.

Frank stiffened, nodding and sitting back. “Ch-Chose Frank ‘cause I thought it’d make him h-happy,” he hiccupped, refusing to look at Gee. He wiped his runny nose on his hand absently, and didn’t notice the way it shook. “H-He didn’t like it very much, s-said it was a disgrace, and a lot of other things I d-don’t remember. But I liked it, because I was still Frankie, and it fit and I kept-t insisting, and he didn’t like that.”

Gerard was confused at first, Frank knew, but that made sense. Frank never really talked about his father or his step-father. Of course, having been around as long as he had, he’d met both men. He had never liked Frank Sr, who had forbidden sleepovers and birthdays and a lot of other things. Mikey said that the one time he did stay at Frank’s, the man had been unnerving, though he wouldn’t explain how. Frank had claimed it wasn’t the others business, and the only time he spoke about what happened with the men in his life, it was with a shaky, quiet voice, when questioned by counselors and police and whilst on the witness stand. No one wanted to push him after all of that, he knew.

“He refused to see me as a boy and he’d punish me for saying I was. If I did anything wrong, acted out at all, I would be in trouble. It hurt so much, and he hurt Mom so much, and...  and I’m scared, Gee,” he mumbled finally, fists tightening in the fabric of Gerard’s shirt. Gee frowned, pulling him a little closer.

“You aren’t allowed to be alone,” he announced, nodding decisively. “I’ll get Mikes to be with you, and when he can’t be here, it’ll be me or Ray, or Patrick or someone else. It won’t happen again, Frank. I swear. That… that man will never come near you again. I promise you.”

Frank nodded again. They stayed like that for a long time, Frank wrapped in Gerard’s comforting embrace, until both boys fell asleep on the couch and Linda crept downstairs to cover them with a thick, warm blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Josh Dun
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, so. Trans!Frank. (I actually paused my music so I could think about how to talk about this, lol)  
> This isn't a spur-of-the-moment "lets add more angst" thing, even though I a) said nothing that really pointed to it previously, and b) totally forgot to tag for it yikes. Frank has (in this 'verse) been trans since the moment I decided I wanted to write past Falling Apart. I just didn't write it that way because Frank is/has always been out, and (now that his father's gone) for the most part, isn't too dysphoric. Around his friends, he has always been comfortable with who he is because he has been accepted completely by them because they are perfect. However, the dysphoria does hit him, especially with his dad forcing him to be a girl, or when he is reminded of it. That's why there are a few like, "she" and "hers" with strikethroughs, followed by his pronoun in bold. Because he is reminding himself that he is a boy.  
> Also, I am a cis girl, so I will not claim to be an expert in this stuff, and I'm sorry for that. I do not want to seem like I'm pretending to understand, and I know that not everyone's experience is like this.
> 
> Sorry, just needed to clarify, just in case.


	9. March to the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take me up, seal the door  
> I don't want to march here anymore  
> I realize that this line is dead  
> So I'll follow you instead
> 
> (March to the Sea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wrote something almost fluffy. Of course, with a large helping of angst, but. You know how it is. Also - wow, a ship that isn't just implied wtf who am I and what have a I done with me??  
> Also, if I make any mistakes with like, tense, please tell me, because for some reason I kept switching to present tense while I was writing this chapter and I kept having to stop and fix that, but I don't think I got all of them. And the style sort of changes partway through oops. (Also this is shorter than most chapters - 1k words - and that wasn't intentional at all.)
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Depression, referenced/implied suicide attempt

Josh was just going through the motions. No one really noticed, so he decided it didn’t matter - until he failed Chemistry in the second quarter of his junior year. And seeing as Josh had never failed a class, Tyler was rightly concerned about his best friend.

“What’s going on?” He stood in front of Josh, dangling his report card in front of him. Josh rolled his eyes, ripping the paper from his hands and crumpling it into a ball. He shrugged, not looking at Tyler, and picked at the hole in his black jeans absently.

“Nothing’s going on,” he mumbled. It wasn’t a lie - nothing  _ was  _ going on. He didn’t know why he had simply given up in that class, why he no longer gave a fuck about his grades or his social life or anything. He hadn’t even hung out with the rest of the “Drumming Ninjas,” a term he had coined when he was twelve to refer to himself and the rest of his friends who played the drums. He and Tyler had hardly hung out in weeks, let alone done anything... _else_. 

“Something has to be going on,” Tyler pressed, his tone verging on desperation. “This isn’t you.” Josh narrowed his eyes, shoving himself up from the chair at his desk. 

“It isn’t me?” He practically yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “What the Hell _ is  _ me, then?”

There were a few moments of silence after he said this. Tyler stared at him, and he stared back. It seemed that neither of them knew what to say to that. “Maybe I should… I should go,” Tyler said finally, picking up his backpack from the floor by Josh’s bedroom door, and slipping out of the room. 

Once Josh heard the door close behind Tyler, he fell to the ground, placing his head in his hands. He wanted to cry, but somehow he couldn’t find the tears, so he stayed curled up on the ground until his mother called him for dinner. He was silent his entire time at the table, barely touching his food - for whatever reason, in the past few months, he'd  found his appetite had disappeared. 

As he made his way back to his room, Josh wondered what was wrong with him. He didn’t have an answer for himself by the time he settled into bed with his laptop. All he knew was that he wanted whatever it was to just stop.

_ “When talking’s just a waste of breath, and living’s just a waste of death, and breathing just passes the time until we all get old and die...” _

Josh was a little concerned by just how much Pete’s latest poem on Tumblr struck him, but it really did. He reblogged it, even though it didn’t quite fit in with the number of selfies and music and pictures of Tyler and fandom things that covered his blog. He just… needed to remember it. 

He didn’t expect Patrick to stop him in the hall on his way to third period to smother him in a hug, but it made him smile a little nonetheless. Tyler wasn’t speaking to him, and without Tyler to talk to and for, Josh didn’t talk to the others much. He had no reason to pretend he was okay without Tyler. 

They didn’t really need him, anyway. They already had Brendon and Ryan to be the hyper kid and the quieter best friend. He could just disappear and they probably wouldn’t even notice. (Not that he was suicidal - he just wanted to disappear. It wasn’t the same thing at all.) 

“Josh, you awake?” Sarah asked, a small, worried smile on her face. Josh turned a little red and nodded, glancing over at Brendon and Ryan, who were leaning against each other as Brendon told one of his ridiculous stories. 

“Why aren’t you over there?” He gestured to the grouping of their friends under the tree, including Debby and Jenna and Tyler. 

She smiled a little, playing with the strap on her backpack. “I could ask you the same thing,” she replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you and Tyler not together.” 

Josh shrugged, glaring at the ground. “Like you and Bren and RyRo and Spence and Dal aren’t all attached at the hip,” he mumbled. Sarah raised her eyebrows, stepping away from him  a little. 

“I never said we weren’t,” she said softly. “Something’s wrong - what is it?”

“Nothing’s wrong, why does everyone keep asking me that?” Josh growled, frowning deeply. Something was wrong, of course something was wrong, but no one could know. There was no way anyone could understand, except maybe Tyler, but he had screwed that one up, hadn’t he?

“You’re just acting weird, Josh,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged, biting hard on his lower lip. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Sarah returned to Josh’s side trailing Tyler, who was eying him anxiously. The other boy all but crushed him into a hug, pressing his face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I overreacted,” Tyler mumbled. 

“I underreacted,” Josh shrugged. He didn’t notice Sarah slinking away with a small smile on her face. 

“No you didn’t, I promise,” Tyler frowned, patting him on the shoulder carefully. “There’s a thing at Pete’s on Friday, and then my family is all gonna be doing things by themselves. You should come sleepover - I’ll have Netflix all to myself.” There was a teasing smile on his face, and Josh felt himself nodding without really thinking about it. The smile grew into one that was more sincere as he hugged Josh tighter, pressing his face against the other boy.

* * *

 

“Why haven’t you been hanging out as much?” Spencer was perched on the stairs of Pete’s basement, head resting against the wall. He bounced his foot anxiously, eyebrows raised at the small gathering of the Drumming Ninjas gathered around the foot of the stairs. Josh shrugged, ducking his head.

“Been busy,” he lied, pulling his jacket around his skinny frame. His eyes strayed to Tyler across the room, who caught him looking and sent a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Spencer smirked, raising his eyebrows as his fingers dug into the thigh of his jeans.

“Ah, I get it,” he teased. Josh felt sick - he knew where they freshman was going, and it wasn't that at all, as much as he wished otherwise. “You and Ty-”

“Leave him alone,” Patrick warned, noticing the way Josh wrung his hands. He frowned, shoving his glasses up as they threatened to fall. “He’s been stressed.” Spencer looked guilty, apologizing quickly. Josh wondered why the younger boy seemed so antsy, watching him as he excused himself and nearly tripped over his own feet as he hurried to Brendon’s side. Something about him seemed off, but Josh no longer trusted in his instincts. He was wrong, wrong, wrong, he always was.

Tyler found him there two hours later, half asleep against the wall. He had to support him on the way to the car. Once they reached his house, for once there was no frantic kissing or hips grinding against each other, just a soft ‘I love you’ that Josh was sure he didn't mean as Tyler carefully tucked him into his bed.

* * *

 

Josh woke up one AM, immediately aware of the lack of warmth in the space next to him, the space that should have been filled by Tyler’s body. There were no arms wrapped around his torso, no soft breath on the back of his neck, and he sat up in alarm once he realized what that meant. His heart pounded in his chest as he crept from the bedroom. He peered into the hallway where the bathroom door stood half open, and Tyler’s quiet, dry sobs could be heard from halfway down the hall.

“Baby Boy, you okay?” He tiptoed closer, slow so as not to startle the boy. His heart made its way to his throat, and all Josh could think was that _he had been doing so much better, and this had to be his fault, and damn it, he ruined everything, Tyler didn’t deserve him_.

“G-Go back to bed.” Josh recognized that shaky voice, and his legs seemed to move of their own accord, pushing the bathroom door open and throwing himself next to Tyler, prying the still-closed -  _ thank God, thank God it’s still closed  _ \- pill bottle from his grasp. His hands shook as he shoved it behind the toilet, out of sight, out of mind, and pulled the smaller boy to his chest, pressing shaky kisses into his forehead and face and neck and sobbing into his shoulder.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said finally, once Tyler wasn’t shaking anymore, and his voice returned to him and both of them had ceased sobbing into each other pathetically. “You said you’d tell me when you felt this bad.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, and there was a weakness there that Josh hadn’t heard since his own voice, begging Tyler to forgive him over voicemail after he walked out - before he gave up on trying to find the words and deleted the message.

“Was it my fault?” He was almost afraid to ask, because if the answer was yes, Josh thought he’d fall apart, but Tyler shook his head firmly. 

“Never, never is it your fault,” he announced, pressing a kiss into Josh’s collarbone. Josh sighed in relief, because for once someone said it wasn’t his fault and it felt damn good to be assured of that by someone who wouldn’t tire of it like his parents always seemed to.

“Then why?” 

Tyler sighed, tightening his grip on Josh’s waist, and Josh could almost fool himself into believing they belonged like this, like they were  _ TylerandJosh  _ and not Tyler and Josh who sometimes fuck each other. “You know it just gets too loud,” he said softly, and Josh understood, because that’s what he’d felt lately, the thoughts in his head screaming too loudly and weighing him down until he doesn’t want to exist. But he’s never been like Tyler, never went to such lengths as he did, because he didn’t want to  _ die.  _ He wanted to disappear, but maybe his loud wasn’t the same as Tyler’s was.

“I know, I get it,” he murmured into Tyler’s soft brown hair, and the small boy froze and pulled away as if he’d been burned.

“You don’t, you can’t.”

“I do,” Josh insisted, because he really did, and why did Tyler look like he was going to cry when he said that?

“That’s what’s been up recently,” Tyler said slowly, and Josh could almost see the pieces falling into place one by one. “You’ve… oh my God, baby, you didn’t say anything.” A tear slipped out of his eye, and Josh had to resist the urge to kiss it off his cheek. 

Josh shrugged, pink hair falling into brown eyes. Tyler brushed it away, pressing a kiss into his lips. “I love you, I love you, we’ll be okay, we’ll work through this, I love you,” he repeated like a mantra, and Josh knew he meant it, he wasn’t just saying it because he felt good or because that’s what people who’ve been friends since they were five say to each other. Tyler loved him like Josh loved Tyler, the way that everyone knew Pete and Patrick loved each other, and Frank and Gee, and Joe and Andy. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Tyler’s forehead. 

It wasn’t better instantly after that, neither of them were magically better because they had someone else, but Josh had someone he knew would forever be there and could help when the days hurt too much and their brains were too loud, and that was all that really mattered in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Joe Trohman


	10. Car Radio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith is to be awake  
> And to be awake is for us to think  
> And for us to think is to be alive  
> And I will try with every rhyme  
> To come across like I am dying  
> To let you know you need to try to think
> 
> (Car Radio)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, sorry guys. There was only so much I could write. But since I'm Trohley trash there's lots of Trohley in this. No shame at all tbh.
> 
> Also I came up with an idea for a fairly fluffy Peterick fic while I was walking my dog this morning, so that might be a thing that gets written in the future idk.
> 
> Warnings: Referenced drug use, implied sexual stuff (But it's consentual and they're both 18, so nothing illegal here)

Joe dug his fists into his forehead, as if that would make his brain shut down faster. He knew it wouldn’t, of course it fucking wouldn’t, that’s what the weed was for, but he had promised Andy that he would try and Joe Trohman refused to break a promise. Especially one made to Andy Hurley, Literal fucking Angel. 

It wouldn’t stop, though, and Joe found himself searching through the drawer by his bed, the one that was filled with things like Patrick’s broken glasses and extra inhaler, Pete’s eyeliner, Brendon’s hair gel, Gerard’s mints, and Andy’s everything. In the very back, in a small bag, he finds the weed and he almost cries from relief. He needs this, and he hates himself for it.

* * *

 

_ -miaja has left the chat!- _

_ Sarah Smiles: u guys scared her off! _

_ UrielyCute: Saraahhhh we didnt mean to dont hate us _

_ Sarah Smiles: shut up brendon lol it wasnt ur fault _

_ LynZ: u guys are the worst im trying to study _

_ UrielyCute: then do wat Jamia did and bye felicia _

_ Tricky: I’m just here to say this “no” @ Bren _

_ UrielyCute: :( _

_ JoeTroh: yuo guus nessd to chiell _

_ Sarah Smiles: ????? help i need a translator _

_ vegansauce: “you guys need to chill” _

_ Tricky: tru ^ _

_ UrielyCute: what did I do?? _

_ JoeTroh: idk i watn sometingh ro eat who wannts to comet o the gasstatio with me _

_ UrielyCute: is he heigh? Bc im not evn that bad @ typing yikes _

_ UrielyCute: High* _

_ vegansauce: “idk. I want something to eat. Who wants to come to the gas station with me?” _

_ Sarah Smiles: Thank god for andy _

_ JoeTroh: ik r hes grate8 _

_ PumpkinEater: i got dis “ikr he’s great” :))) _

_ Tricky: wtf Pete when did you change your name _

_ PumpkinEater: idk I got bored of eteP and I stole that from Hayley anyway lol _

_ JoeTroh: Imis her why ist she areund aymroe ? _

_ Tricky: Joe no go to bed and sleep it off plz _

_ JoeTroh: ok _

_ -JoeTroh has left the chat!- _

_ PumpkinEater: Bren, meet me at joes house _

_ UrielyCute: yyyyyy??? _

_ PumpkinEater: some1 needs t o check on him _

_ UrielyCute: ok but y me _

_ PumpkinEater: bc ik trick wants to sleep and andy wants 2 go but he wont bc he promised to gve joe space wen hes like this, and no1 else neds to go so its u amd me pal _

_ UrielyCute: ok :)))))))) _

* * *

 

“Joe, you smell like weed,” Andy commented, frowning at the younger boy. Joe shrugged, fingers finding the hole in his ratty jeans and picking at the exposed skin. 

“‘M not high,” he pointed out, refusing to look at Andy, because they both knew that even if he wasn’t, he had been recently, and that was bad enough.

“I’m not trying to force you to be a straight-edge or anything,” Andy reminded him gently, hands carefully carding through Joe’s curls. “I just don’t like your reasoning, and I don’t you to end up messed up or addicted to something harder. I don’t want you to end up fucked up.” 

“I know,” Joe was quiet, too quiet. He was quiet around other people, of course, because Pete and Patrick had always sort of taken center stage until he and ‘Trick were twelve and the panic attacks started - then Pete took the spotlight and that was fine. Andy didn’t talk much anyway, and Patrick had his anxiety, and Joe was content to not open his mouth, lest he say something someone else would deem stupid. But Joe was never quiet around Andy or the others, at least not like this. 

Andy’s hand made it’s way to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, ignoring the acrid scent of beer on his breath as he pulled him into a kiss, and Joe’s brain finally, finally shut off for a minute. He relaxed into the kiss because of this, pouting when the older boy pulled away and pecked him softly on the forehead. 

“I’m worried about you,” Andy said, and Joe felt the guilt forming a ball in the pit of his stomach. He hated those words, words like ‘worried’ and ‘concerned’ and ‘scared.’ He wasn’t supposed to make other people feel those words, especially not Andy.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, leaning up to press his mouth to Andy’s again, long and slow and sweet, until they both forgot they were in a van in Pete’s driveway, and Pete had to bang on the door to remind them that they were not, in fact, alone.

They climbed from the van and Joe felt his brain go back to thinking too hard and his fingers itched for a joint, but he couldn’t have one. Not here. So he waited.

* * *

 

Maybe Joe was a bad influence, but he didn’t give a fuck, even as Brendon and Spencer and Frank passed joints between them. He didn’t let himself think about that, because he didn’t let himself think about anything, except for dumb stuff like where the air comes from and why elephants aren’t pink. 

This was what he loved about being high, the total elevation of mind, body, soul, away from reality until there was nothing left but fuzziness and everything was funny and deep and great and he wasn’t thinking. Thinking could be dangerous, had led Andy to staring at guns and Gerard to starving himself and Pete to suicide not once but twice, and he refused to do it more than he had to. Unfortunately, Joe’s brain loved thinking.

And if in the future, when Spencer was spiraling, and Joe was blaming himself, he wasn’t concerned with that now.

* * *

 

Joe curled over the steering wheel, hating himself every second that he couldn’t bring himself to move his car from its current location, because Patrick was waiting for him, was probably freaking out right now, and he was on the side of the road sobbing into the steering wheel. He felt like the definition of a dumb-fuck.

It would have been easy to turn on the radio and let the stupid pop music that Pete liked to put on, or Andy’s metal or Patrick’s jazz or, or anything really, drown out the thoughts of ‘stupid, stupid, stupid’ spreading through his brain like wildfire, but the radio was fucking broken. Which was stupid, seeing as this car was brand new and had cost everything but Joe’s firstborn to pay for, but it is what it is, he supposed.

Andy showed up three hours later, after he didn’t show up at Pete’s and Patrick called with concern lacing his words.

“Pete went to Patrick’s, gonna meet us here when you’re ready. They said to take all the time you need,” he said softly, kneeling on the asphalt. The driver’s door was open, and Joe was still crumpled on the steering wheel, unable to pry himself free just yet. Andy understood, he always understood, and eventually Joe fell out beside him, curling up into his side.

The older boy practically carried him to his van. He wasn’t expecting the barrage of frantic, needy kisses that Joe was soon pressing into his lips, the gentle nips down his neck that made him groan softly. “What are you doing?” He asked, because Andy was never one to take advantage and he didn’t dare to hurt Joe. “Are you okay?” 

“Please,” there were tears on Joe’s face, and he was ashamed, but not too ashamed to beg. He rolled his hips up into Andy’s and let out a safe moan into his shoulder. “Please, fuck, need you.” There was no way Andy could say no to that.

* * *

Andy was avoiding Joe, and Joe wasn’t sure why.

Okay, yes, so it was his fault that they had ended up having sex in the back of Andy’s van, and now the van smelled kinda bad. And, yes, he had skipped school today, and was one unexcused absence in all of his classes away from retaking his senior year. And yes, he had totally disappeared the previous night after dinner with his grandparents, in which they asked what he planned to do and reminded him that “guitar is a fine hobby, but it isn’t a suitable career, Joseph” and no one had been able to find him for almost twenty-four hours. And yes, he had shown up at Lindsey’s out of his fucking mind on booze and weed, and he hadn’t even called. But given the circumstances, he felt that was acceptable.

But Andy was avoiding him, and that was never okay. Because that meant that Joe had done something very wrong, and he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Maybe he just realized that he doesn’t want to be with a deadbeat like me, I’m literally destined for failure,” he worried to Patrick, pacing the other boy’s small bedroom and running his hands through his hair. “Maybe he’s tired of me, he’s probably tired of me. Maybe he doesn’t love me, maybe he wants to break up with me. Patrick, I can’t lose him, fuck he’s the only good thing in my fucked up life.”

Patrick gave him a wry smile, standing up just long enough to push Joe into his desk chair. “I’m a little offended, Joe,” he teased, raising his eyebrows. There was a small strain on the words, though, as if he was really concerned that Joe didn’t actually like him. Joe winced a little, cursing himself for forgetting that Patrick was worried about that far too much for someone as great as him.

“You know what I mean, ‘Trick. You know I love you, man,” he sighed, pulling his legs up into the chair and wrapping his arms around them. 

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick said, shoulders relaxing a little. “Andy’s just going through things right now, I think. I saw him texting Gee and Ray, and you know he goes to them when he’s… got stuff on his mind. He’ll be okay - it’s not your fault.”

“But what if it is?” Joe’s fingers itched to  _ hold  _ a joint, he didn’t even need to smoke it right now. He looked to Patrick’s desk, and subtly grabbed one of his mechanical pencils, closing his eyes and pretending it was something it wasn’t. 

“It’s not,” Patrick said firmly, reaching for his favorite guitar. “Grab one, man. You gotta help me with this song.”

When Andy called Joe that night, he was suitably calm, because jamming with Patrick (who refused to admit he had the best fucking voice in the world, literally what the fuck?) had cleared his mind in a way that normally came from drugs or Andy. (Who was basically drug himself, in the best way possible.)

“Are you okay?” Of course the first words out of his mouth were about Joe, when Joe was worried about him.

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Patrick said you were kind of freaking out,” Andy replied softly, and Joe could hear the concern on his voice. He sent a glare in the general direction of Patrick’s house, as if the younger boy could see it. 

“I’m fine,” he confirmed. “Just worried about  _ you. _ ” Good, Joe, get the conversation off of you.

“I was just… not doing great,” Andy admitted. “I needed space, but I needed to not have space.” Joe didn’t quite get it, but he acted like he did. He always acted like he got it, because if he didn’t Andy would try to explain, and that would end up with both of them getting a headache and Joe thinking way, way too much. 

They fell into an easy conversation, and for once, Joe didn’t think at all, not in the way he hated to. It was good. It was nice. It was, almost, normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Spencer Smith


	11. Migraine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did not know it was such a violent island  
> Full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions  
> They're trying to eat me, blood running down their chin  
> And I know that I can fight or I can let the lion win  
> I begin to assemble what weapons I can find  
> 'Cause sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind
> 
> (Migraine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3K words, can I get a fuck yeah? 
> 
> You would not believe the amount of procrastination I put into this chapter. It was supposed to go past where it does, but I just couldn't do it, I had to stop. On another note, if you like this angsty stuff, I have an unrelated MCR fic up that's like, sad af and all about Frank, so if you want to check that out...please do. 
> 
> Warnings: Underage drug abuse/drinking, references to depression, overdose

Spencer didn’t start out completely fucked up. It had started out as just a joint with Joe here and there, just a beer snuck from the minifridge or from Lindsey’s apartment. (Not Ray and Gerard’s though - they didn’t keep alcohol, and for good reason.) 

Everyone was typically pretty chill about it. Lindsey and Ray would frown at him from time to time, as they were the group’s designated “Mom Friends” and as such, were always trying to look out for everyone else. There was a general consensus to try and keep the younger kids away from the booze, and Spencer definitely qualified as one of the younger kids, but for whatever reason he was always sort of… overlooked. Maybe it was because he was always hanging around with Brendon and Ryan and Dallon, and they just forgot that he was actually one of the youngest kids in the group, or maybe it was because he never seemed too affected by that stuff, so they assumed it wasn’t a problem.

It was a problem. 

He wasn’t Joe, who smoked and drank to stop thinking, but was pretty good at keeping a handle on things. He wasn’t Frank or Brendon or Ryan, who smoked because it was fun, and were perfectly fine.

No, Spencer was more along the lines of Gerard or Mikey, who’s drinking had ended up bad, bad, bad. He didn’t admit it to anyone, until he mentioned it in passing to Brendon.

“Man, I’m so fucked up,” he’d commented one day, and Brendon had stopped to look at him for a minute. There were a lot of words he’d use to describe the sophomore, but “fucked up” wasn’t one of them, not even jokingly.

“How?” Brendon asked, tilting his head like a lost puppy. Spencer was sorry he brought it up, but he decided there was no point in stopping now. Brendon could be fucking persistent when he wanted to be.

“I’m always drunk or high, or wanting to get drunk or high,” he shrugged, letting his hair fall into his eyes. Brendon frowned, concern on his face.

“That’s not good,” he said, as if Spencer didn’t fucking know that already. “Just… it’s just weed, right?” Spencer nodded, stomach turning. He didn’t mention the pills he’d started popping - it was safer if no one found out. 

“Don’t… Don’t tell Ry, alright?” His voice was soft, pleading. 

Brendon’s frown deepened, and he sat up, no longer bending over his US History textbook. “Why not? He’s our friend,” he objected. “He’d wanna know.” Spencer couldn’t find a way to explain the way Ryan had changed recently, the way he had slowly been drifting from Brendon, the fact that he hadn’t ever really been quite as close with him, anyway. Brendon just wouldn’t get it, because he didn’t want to see how different things were. And that was okay, but Spencer refused to be the one to burst his bubble.

“Just don’t, okay? Our secret.” He held up his pinky finger, feeling sort of stupid, because he was sixteen, and Bren was almost seventeen, but the other boy nodded seriously and hooked his pinky with Spencer’s, and he felt the relief fill his chest ever-so-slightly.

* * *

 

Spencer started avoiding everyone. He was sad, so fucking sad, and he hated it. He didn’t want to be sad anymore, not like this. But he couldn’t bring himself to look Brendon in the eye and say he was fine, to look at Ryan and act like the things he mumbled under his breath didn’t hurt, to look at Dallon and want to scream that he understood the self-hatred and the hurt and that he needed help.

And then he figured it out, figured out the equation that seemed to fix things. It was easy enough, even if he had to sneak pills from his parents and siblings and friends, until he found a shady-ass dealer at the school who was willing to sell drugs to a chubby emo kid that shook like a leaf any time he spoke. He got a new fake ID, a better one, and had taken to letting sparse facial hair grow in on his chin and wearing boots with thick, high soles to make him appear older when he used it to buy shitty beer.

He had to train himself to hide it as his sophomore year slowly faded out, as the kids two years above him (Patrick, Joe, Mikey, Frank and Jamia) were preparing for graduation.There was party after party after fucking party to attend, and he could barely get through them without popping pills one, two, three, four times, but he had to be discreet around the cousins and grandparents and the acquaintances. There were the families’ parties, and then the friends’ parties, and the parties for the friends of friends that he somehow ended up at, and then Ray and Gee had thrown one for Mikey and Frank, and Pete and Andy threw one for Patrick and Joe, and then there was Lindsey’s party for Jamia. 

Spencer could see that he wasn’t the only one going crazy in the midst of this. He could see Patrick hovering at the edges, even when the parties were for him, shaking a little and trying to play it off like he was okay. He could see Joe freak out every time someone asked him what came next. He could see Mikey itching for a drink as people, people, and more people approached him with congratulations. He wished that he was someone like Bren or Frank, who could bounce their ways through a crowd with smiles on their faces, and say hello to everyone.

He almost always found himself amongst the attendees who passed out. He’d wake up smelling of booze and with his pockets lighter than they should have been, and wonder why the hell he let himself get like this.

* * *

 

Brendon was scared, and for good reason. Spencer would be scared too if he walked into one of his best friends’ bedrooms and found them on the floor from overdosing on pills. He didn’t blame him for being terrified, for yelling, for cursing. Especially not after Pete. 

Brendon had practically worshipped Pete, and after the Best Buy Incident, he had been like a kicked puppy. Dallon and Spencer (and Ryan too, he supposed) had to work for ages to get the kid feeling like he wasn’t responsible. It had been a difficult time. And then, he admitted to trying again in March, and Brendon had practically broken down right there in the basement. Spencer and Dallon had to carry him home, couldn’t leave him alone for two days because he was so upset. (Ryan showed up eventually, but on the day they found out, he had been hanging out with Jon Walker… and not with Brendon, even though the boy had needed his best friend, damn it.)

“Was it on purpose?” Brendon asked when he finally stopped yelling, turning to stare at Spencer with wide eyes. Dallon had sat quietly in the corner of the hospital room as all this happened, watching Brendon carefully to make sure he didn’t go overboard. Apparently, he hadn’t.

“What?” Spencer asked, confusion coloring his face. Brendon’s hands clenched at his sides, and he refused to look at the boy in the hospital bed.

“Did you try to kill yourself?” It wasn’t Brendon who spoke, but Dallon, voice breaking around the words. He hadn’t spoken since he arrived at the hospital, on the phone with Sarah in hushed tones, telling her to ‘please, don’t mention this to anyone, not yet, not ‘til we understand.’ 

Spencer felt his heart stop in his chest and he shook his head firmly, fingers digging into his thighs as if that would keep him grounded. “No,” he said quickly, “No, no, never. I’m sad, but I’m not suicidal. It was an accident.” He looked frantically at Brendon who still refused to look him in the eyes.

“Beebo, you’ve got to believe me - it was an accident, a dumb mistake.” Brendon froze for a second, before nodding once, firmly. Spencer fell back against his pillows in relief.

“Explain it, then,” he said softly. 

Spencer nodded, launching into the whole sordid tale of sadness, emptiness, loneliness. He explained how anxiety hit over every little thing, the way his fingers itched for it, how taking a pill was like an escape, greeting a long lost friend. He didn’t mean for things to go this far. He didn’t mean to fuck up this badly, but he had, and he wanted to take it all back. 

If Spencer could go back to any moment in time, it would be the one where he had smoked for the first time, and decided that getting high was the best option he had. Because it wasn’t, but he didn’t seem to know how to stop.

* * *

 

The room was silent when Joe burst in, each of the four occupants immersed in their own thing. Brendon was bent over his songbook, writing and rewriting, hand scribbling things out and replacing them faster than Spencer could think. Dallon was reading on his phone, probably some dumb Tumblr post or fanfiction, but he hadn’t looked up from it in half an hour and his phone’s battery was probably draining away. Spencer was watching Disney Junior, the only thing that played on the hospital’s TV that didn’t completely make him want to scream.

Joe’s arrival was loud, the door bursting open to hit the wall as he entered. His face was a mess of tears, and he was trailing Pete, who looked just as broken up. They practically leaped on Spencer, holding him close to their chests and crying into his hair. Briefly, he wondered where his parents were, suddenly realizing that Joe and Pete were the first adults (besides Dal and the doctor and nurses) that he had seen.

“What are you guys doing here?” he choked out, voice still a bit raw from the pills. He moved and his stomach clenched in pain, reminding him that he had, in fact, had it pumped just an hour before. “While you’re at it, where are my mom and dad?”

“We just heard from Bren, and we wanted to make sure you were okay,” Pete said, smoothing his hands over Spencer’s hair in an almost motherly manner. “I know about overdosing, and Joe knows about addiction - we thought having someone with a little experience would make you feel better.”

“Your parents went to get food right before you woke up,” Dallon cut in. His voice was rough, and Spencer was suddenly made aware that the older boy had been crying silently in his corner. “They should be back soon.”

“Where’s Ryan?” Spencer didn’t want to know the answer, really, but it seemed odd. He already knew Sarah wasn’t there because she had been dragged into a family thing, was texting constantly from wherever she was and threatening to send her friend Breezy to check on him. The only one left was Ryan, but he hadn’t shown. (Spence wasn’t surprised, but he pretended to be for Brendon’s sake.)

Brendon’s hands curled into fists, and his eyes blazed a little bit dangerously before he could hide it. “He didn’t answer my call,” he said finally, voice cracking. “He didn’t answer.”

Spencer nodded, sitting in silence. Joe stood by his side, still looking guilty. Spence was almost worried for him. He didn’t smell like weed, so that was good, but someone would have to stick to him to make sure he didn’t start thinking too much. This wasn’t his fault, it was no one’s fault but Spencer’s.

He told Joe as much, and the older boy just looked at him for a long moment, hooded eyes sad and pained. “I was the one who gave you that first joint,” he reminded him, blinking hard. Spencer couldn’t deny the truth to that. “I was the one who started all this.”

Spencer shook his head, voice steadier than he felt. “No, no, I was,” he assured him, just as the door opened and his parents entered. His mother took one look at him and started sobbing, pressing her fists into her eyes like a small child, the way she always did when she was upset and didn’t want anyone to try and help. (Spencer supposed he got that from her, in a way.) His father, on the other hand, grit his teeth and nodded at the other boys in the room, who left silently. Brendon hovered in the doorway for a moment, eyes sad, until Dallon pulled him away, hand resting gently on his shoulder. 

After that, there were long conversations with Spencer’s parents. He didn’t see any of his friends again until after he was released from the hospital, skin still itching for more pills but not as badly, in the one day he got to be home before he was sent away, to rehab, for the summer (or maybe longer, who knows, maybe his parents would just leave him there forever.)

Things were tense with his parents, tense with Brendon, tense with Joe and Dallon and Pete. Ryan still hadn’t called, or visited, or even texted, but Sarah did every day, just to make him smile a little. It worked, sometimes.

She was the one to show up in Spencer’s bedroom as he was messing around on his laptop, doing nothing important. She had skipped in the room, dragging Breezy behind her with tightly intertwined fingers. Spencer wondered momentarily how the girls had gotten in, seeing as he was home alone at the moment. (Something that would have made Dallon angry as Hell if he knew.)

“You doing okay, Spence?” Sarah’s voice was soft and caring, without even the trace of tears, a vast contrast of pretty much anyone who he had talked to in the past few days. 

Spencer shrugged, glancing at Breezy, who sent him a lopsided smile. “‘M fine,” he said, after what seemed like forever, picking his words carefully. She nodded slowly, eyebrows raised as though she didn’t quite believe him.

“We’re both sorry we couldn’t come see you in the hospital,” she assured him, hand resting gently on the small of his back - a gesture that brought a surprising amount of comfort. “By the time I was able to, and Breezy found out, your parents pretty much had you on lockdown.”

“They did?” He was confused - they had never mentioned this to Spencer, letting him ask about his friends and sharing shrugs and concerned smiles, and promises that they were just busy with family. It was the start of the summer, after all, and lots of people took vacations at the beginning of summer. 

Breezy nodded, speaking in a tone that was louder and rougher than Sarah’s, but not like Dallon’s voice that had been wrecked by tears, or Brendon’s, which had cracked in a way that hurt everyone listening. “They did,” she confirmed, a small frown tugging on the corners of her mouth. “Said you didn’t want or need visitors. Think they even told Joe that this was his fault or something, he was really upset after that. He wouldn’t talk to anyone but Andy Hurley for hours.”

It made sense, in some twisted way. Spencer’s parents had never really liked his friends, always claiming they were bad influences, would mess up his life with their drugs and alcohol and  _ music, _ fucking music that they abhorred. When he had begged to invite Dal or Bren or  _ someone  _ over upon his release from the hospital the previous day, they had shared a look, and gave him tight-lipped smiles, and he had known what was coming before the words left their mouths. 

“You need rest, darling,” his mother had said, carefully running her hands through his hair. 

“Don’t want to worry them, you’ll be back in a couple of months,” his father agreed, and that had been that. 

“Fuck them,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, “They dunno what they’re talking about.”

Sarah bit her lip, staring at Spencer for a moment. Her eyes flickered to Breezy, who smiled sadly. The next words that left her mouth were slow and careful, as if they burned as they fell from her lips. “Maybe they’re right.”

Spencer’s head shot up. “What?” he asked, blinking back tears that were all too quick to fall. They couldn’t say that, because if they did, that meant that they were leaving him, and, call him codependent, but he didn’t think he’d survive without his friends.

“Maybe, maybe the group is bad for you. Maybe it’s toxic,” her words were like knives, and he knew they’d leave scars deep and painful in his heart and mind, even if she didn’t say them to hurt. “I mean, look at you. You leave for fucking rehab tomorrow, and, and, and we almost lost you. What if that’s because the group is fucking you up?”

Breezy looked a little uncomfortable as Sarah spoke, because even though she regularly hung out with Spencer and his little group of friends, even though she and Sarah were attached at the hip and knew everything about each other, the way Jamia-and-Halsey-and-Lindsey or Debby-and-Jenna were, she wasn’t a part of The Group. She wasn’t comfortable in Pete’s basement or at Gee and Ray’s apartment, she was an outlier, and she didn’t like being pulled into The Group’s politics. Spencer knew that Breezy just didn’t think it was her place. 

“I can’t lose you guys,” he found himself saying, completely out of his control. “You guys can’t leave me. Breezy, you won’t let me be alone, right?” Okay, yes, he was desperate, and he knew by the deer in the headlights look on Breezy’s face that she hadn’t been expecting him to turn to her, but she nodded hesitantly nonetheless.

“They aren’t leaving you, Spence,” she assured him, eyes darting to the window and widening when she spotted his parents’ car driving down the street. “Sarah just wants you to be safe, and if that means leaving them, then that’s what she wants. We have to go now, we love you, it’ll be okay.” 

With each word, she spoke faster, until she was pulling herself to her feet and dragging a distraught Sarah behind her. Both girls leaned in to give him a kiss on his cheeks, whispered assurances, and then they were darting out the door. He was sure they left through the back, because he watched them hop the fence as his parents opened the front door, running away from his house with their hands gripping each other tightly. 

He knows by his parents’ footsteps in the house outside of his tightly shut bedroom door, that their upset, disappointed, angry. They warned him, warned him to stay away, and he hadn’t, and he’d been caught up in drugs and in  _ music  _ and they probably hate him for it. Good thing they won’t have to deal with him for the next couple months, because if they did, they’d hate him even more. 

When they pack him into the car, along with a carefully packed bag full of belongings that abide by the guidelines the rehab center sent to them, he’s almost grateful to be going away. But not because of his friends, who, the second he’s able, he will call or send letters to, and make sure that they can’t forget him. Because of his parents, who were maybe right all along, so he refuses to let them get in the way of the only group of idiots who ever really made him happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Brendon Urie


	12. The Pantaloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are tired  
> You are hurt  
> A moth ate through  
> Your favorite shirt  
> And all your friends fertilize  
> The ground you walk  
> Lose your mind
> 
> (The Pantaloon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have got to stop lowkey projecting onto band members jfc it isn't healthy. ((Neither is the Nutella that I'm eating by the spoonful at 9:42 at night, though, so. I'm just trash I guess.))
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of drug overdose, self-hatred
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't hate Ryan or Jon. Just for the record.

Looking back, Brendon wonders why he never saw it. 

Ryan was pulling away, a lot. Dallon and Spencer seemed to notice, keeping themselves at a distance and almost acting as a shield against things, until they got too big, and they couldn’t be around for him. Sarah was a steady shoulder he could lean on, and he remembered why he used to have a crush on the small, pretty girl, but even she was distant recently, spending more time with Breezy than with their friend group. And no one seemed to be comfortable around Dallon.

Things started when Ryan started hanging out with Jon Walker, as crazy as that sounded. (Crazy, because that was sixth grade, but Brendon didn’t even notice until the summer before senior year, when Spencer had gotten really bad.) He had started slowly drifting away, slowly getting meaner until they were fighting a lot and he was putting Brendon down and muttering rude things under his breath that Brendon pretended not to hear.

But of course, everything went to hell in the summer after junior year.

* * *

 

“Hey, Ry, you wanna come over tonight?” Brendon asked on the last day of school, bouncing on his toes in front of the other boy. His mouth stretched into a wide grin, excited and happy. 

Ryan flinched, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before opening them and smiling apologetically. “I’m hanging with Jon,” he shrugged, glancing past the short boy to where Jon was waiting for him at the corner. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” 

Brendon nodded, but he felt his smile slide of his face, coming to rest at Ryan’s feet. The older boy jogged away, meeting up with Jon and laughing loudly at something he said. Brendon’s heart sank a little, but he turned on his heel and pushed through the crowded hallways, hoping to catch Spencer before he left. 

He eventually found the kid, jumpy as always, but he declined Brendon’s offer with a sad smile. “Sorry, Beebo,” he mumbled. “I’ve gotta get home.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Brendon feeling a little rejected and a lot unwanted. He didn’t bother seeing if Sarah or Dallon wanted to something - they were probably busy too, and then he’d just be a nuisance, like he seemed to be for Spence and Ry. That was okay though. He could wait until they weren’t too busy. 

Ryan never stopped being too busy though, and the first snarky text caught Brendon by surprise. When his phone had vibrated with the special pattern he had set for Ry ages ago, he had jumped, because who in their right mind expects someone who’s been avoiding them to text out of the blue like that. He smiled happily for a moment, until he read the message.

**Ryro:** _ Ur so clingy bden god cant u tell i dont wanna hang out w/ u rn??? _

Brendon felt like his world had shattered. Ryan always wanted to hang out with him. Always, even when he was busy. He was just busy a lot, that was all. He didn’t hate him. Ryan had promised - he would never hate Brendon. 

**Ryro:** _ sorry beeb jon stole my phone. He thought itd be funnt to see how youd react. _

Brendon let out a sigh of relief. Ryan didn’t hate him. It was okay. He still had his best friend.

* * *

 

There were other occasions, of course, where something would happen and Brendon’s heart would stop for fear of losing Ryan. He heard the muttered comments about how stupid he was, how weak Spencer was, how he had an embarrassing puppy crush on Dallon and how gross it was. But he ignored them, forcing himself not to take it to heart. It was summer time anyway. Everyone acted a little different during the summer, or at least that’s what Brendon told himself.

And then Spencer almost died. 

It was only the first week into break, and Brendon had made plans with Spence to hang out that night, go to a music festival at the fairgrounds in the morning. (The younger boy’s parents had no idea of course - they thought music was a waste, and would never, ever let him go to a music festival if they knew. They assumed the boys were going to be at the museum, a good, wholesome activity. The thought made both boys giggle.)

“Hey, Spence, have you seen -” Brendon started, holding a DVD case in one hand. He cut himself off when he saw his friend sprawled on the floor, surrounded by small pills. “Shit, shit, shit, Spencer, are you awake?” 

Spencer didn’t respond. Brendon fell to his knees scrambling to his side with tears in his eyes. He shook his shoulder in desperation, and the younger boy’s eyelids fluttered. Brendon almost cried in relief -  _ he was alive, he was alive, he was alive, thank God, for now he was alive.  _ He dug through his pocket, nearly dropping his phone once he located it, his hands were shaking so badly. “Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me,” he mumbled, dialing 911 with his shaky fingers.

He didn’t remember much after putting the phone to his ear, vaguely remembered riding in the ambulance with Spencer and calling his parents, crying to them over the phone. He remembered their stony expressions when they met him in the emergency room, sitting as far from him as possible after they said he could leave, but he just couldn’t. He remembered that somehow, he called Dallon, and the older boy showed up to pull him into his arms and promise him it would be okay. He remembered calling Ryan, and Ryan didn’t answer, not even after the third frantic voicemail.

When they were finally allowed to see Spencer, Brendon and Dallon had to beg and bully and bribe his parents to let them sit quietly in the room. Spencer was asleep when they came in, according the doctors it was because of medecine. He was fine. Brendon had found him in time - barely, but in time, nonetheless.

Spencer’s parents left for food, shortly before Spencer woke up, and when he did, Brendon barely waited for the doctors and nurses to talk to and check on him before he exploded.

He let out all the hurt and anger and pain he felt because of Pete and Spencer and Ryan (who still wasn’t here, still hadn’t even called, what the fuck kind of friend was he?). He didn’t mean to yell, didn’t even realize he was doing it until he realized the Spencer was almost curled up in on himself, looking down in shame, and Dallon was staring at him with wide eyes - almost like he was scared of him. And who in the world could be scared of innocent, happy Brendon? 

Brendon forced himself to calm down. He stared at Spencer with wide brown eyes, hands balled into fists at his sides to keep himself grounded, stable. “Was it on purpose?” His voice was softer now, scared. He was terrified that Spencer had tried to kill himself, scared that the kid that he had sworn to himself when they were little to protect had wanted to die and he hadn’t even noticed. Spencer was confused, asked him what he meant, and Brendon didn’t know how to keep his voice from shaking.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. Dallon piped up from the corner of the room, voice soft and too broken. “Did you try to kill yourself?” he asked, and Brendon knew that this was killing him just as much.

“ No, no, never. I’m sad, but I’m not suicidal. It was an accident,” he explained hurriedly. Brendon felt himself relax a little, but he refused to look at the boy in the hospital bed, prompting Spencer to explain everything.

With every word about parties and addictions and pills, Brendon’s heart broke a little more. He was supposed to protect Spencer, he had promised himself he would. And yet, he didn’t see this, and it was killing him, because Spencer was his brother, his best friend - possibly even closer to him than Ryan, at this point. He should have known this was happening.

_ Ryan was right,  _ a tiny voice at the back of his mind said, one that Brendon had pushed away countless times.  _ You really are an idiot. _

When things had calmed down some, Pete and Joe arrived. Brendon had texted Pete, not really knowing where else to turn, and, because the boy was a fucking saint, he’d showed up. When they burst in, obviously, Spencer began asking questions. Because that’s what people do when they’re confused, and Spencer was super confused. Which made sense, it did, but when he brought up Ryan, Brendon flinched. 

_ Stupid asshole, not showing up when Spencer needs it,  _ he thought to himself, eyes blazing. Brendon was mad, and he never got mad, not at Ryan.

_ Of course not, he hates you, remember,  _ the little voice at the back of his head teased smoothly. Brendon frowned a little, not enough that anyone would notice.

_ Doesn’t matter if he hates me. This is about Spence, not me,  _ he shot back, struggling to cover the anger on his face as he looked back at the other occupants in the room. 

“He did answer my call,” he responded finally, on the very edge of dissolving into tears. “He didn’t answer.” 

When Spencer’s parents finally returned, and he had to leave the room, Brendon stopped to look at the younger boy one last time before he wouldn’t see him again. In exchange for letting his friends in, the bad influences that the Smiths though they were, Bren and Dal had promised to keep everyone away from Spencer until he left for rehab. And maybe it would be better that way. Better for everyone, even Brendon.

(He doubted it, because it was like losing Spencer, and he was already so close to losing Ryan. It hurt a lot, but he had to do it. He’d  _ had  _ to make sure Spence was okay.)

* * *

 

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a loser, Ryan would want to hang out with you,” Jon shrugged, his tone casual. Brendon flinched, stepping back from the boy he  _ thought  _ was a friend. 

“R-Ry?” he asked, looking over at his best friend. Ryan refused to look at him. Brendon wanted to scream, ask him where he fucked up and how he could fix it, but he just nodded and pasted a big, fake smile on his face. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he agreed, and then he turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could from the Ross’ house.

He had shown up, thinking they had plans, but Jon Walker had answered the door. Brendon quickly gathered that he wasn’t wanted, and Jon had said a few snarky things that hit Brendon harder than he was willing to admit. And Ryan had stood there and said nothing, even as he flinched away from each of the joking sentences from Jon’s mouth, even as it was clear that, whether he was joking or not, his words were hurting.

Clearly, Ryan didn’t care.

Brendon didn’t stop until he reached the woods on the other side of the neighborhood, which was pretty far from both his and Ryan’s homes. Ryan lived close to the front entrance, and Brendon lived on the eastern edge, and the woods were on the northern edge, directly across the neighborhood from the Rosses and the back entrance.

He didn’t stop, even then, until he found the big tree, far enough from the edge of the woods that he wouldn’t be found quickly. He scrambled up it, stopping once he reached the wide branch where he and his friends had spent many a day sitting and laughing with each other, before things all went to shit. 

The phone went off, Ryan’s ringtone, and Brendon declined. It was the first time he had ever declined a call from Ryan, and his heart began to ache. “Fuck you, Ross,” he mumbled, glaring at the screen. He almost threw the phone, but he knew that would be stupid.

He wasn’t sure how long he was in the tree, crying to himself, and ignoring the stupid, stupid, voice niggling away at the back of his mind, telling him how awful he was, that this was his fault. Of course, of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be?

He really wasn’t sure when he fell asleep in the tree, but he woke up to the sound of his name being called, and it was almost, but not quite dawn. 

“Brendon? Is that you? Why the fuck are you in a fucking tree?” That was Dallon, yelling up the tree, voice broken. 

“Dal? What the fuck?” Brendon called back, slowly starting to climb from the tree. As he got closer to the ground, he saw the tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.

“I was fucking worried, Bden,” he mumbled, pulling the other boy into an a tight hug the moment he reached the ground. “Everyone was fucking worried when you didn’t end up at home and no one knew where you were. What the fuck, Beebo?” 

Brendon flinched at the tone to Dal’s words, and the taller boy’s arms tightened around him.  _ You idiot, why did you do that, why did you worry them? You’re so fucking stupid,  _ snapped the voice in the back of his head. He bit his lip, closing his eyes tightly.

_ Go away,  _ he thought, and the annoying voice went away for the moment. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “It was stupid.” 

“Hold on,” Dallon mumbled, and leaned away to yell over his shoulder. “I found him! By the big tree!” Brendon felt like falling to the ground, so he did, dragging the older boy down with him and sobbing into his shoulder.

“Brendon, B, Bren, what happened,” Dallon asked, carding his fingers through the short boy’s hair. “Tell me, please, I wanna know how to make it better.” 

“Jon and… and Ryan… hate me... I-I can’t,” he choked out, pressing his face further into Dallon’s shirt. It hurt to much to say it, so he let Dal shush him as the people approached. He wanted to be alone, but he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to hug Spencer, to stay wrapped in Dallon’s arms, to hide from everyone so he couldn’t be hurt again. 

“Brendon! Why did you - is he okay?” That was Sarah’s voice, a little desperate and a lot concerned. Recently, it seemed wherever Sarah was, Breezy was close behind, and Brendon wasn’t surprised when he heard two people sit beside him and Dallon, rather than one. They were whispering over his head, and it scared him a little, because what if they were talking about how _annoying_ and clingy he is, just like Jon and Ryan said he was. He gripped Dal’s shirt a little tighter, and the older boy pressed a quick kiss into his hair, before he continued talking to the girls.

“I’m literally going to kill Ryan Ross,” Sarah hissed, and then she was getting up, and Breezy followed, calling for her to stop. 

“Sh, Bren, you’re okay,” Dallon promised. 

“You’re going to leave me, everyone leaves me,” he cried, trying to curl further into a ball. “Everyone, everyone leaved. My dad died, and my grandfather died, and Pete tried to die, and- and then there was Spencer, and Sarah has Breezy, and you have your college life, and Ryan hates me. Everyone leaves me, Dallon, everyone hates me, and everyone leaves me.”

Dallon pushed him back just enough to stare at him,shaking his head and pulling him closer almost immediately. There were more footsteps, running ones, and someone cursed from a little way away, loud and angry, but Dallon disregarded them, letting Brendon cry.

“Bren, no, baby, never,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No one hates you - if Ryan does then he’s an asshole and it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. No one wants to leave you, not your dad or grandfather, not Spencer, not Sarah, and definitely not me.”

He gestured to Pete  and Patrick, Joe and Andy, and Lindsey and Halsey, who appeared from different directions, to walk slowly behind Brendon’s back, before continuing. “Without you, imagine me in eighth grade - hating myself, with no one there to come up with the notes idea. No one here now, to remind me that I’m more than I think I am. All of our friends, we all love you. You know Spencer loves you, so much, that’s why he didn’t tell you about what was going on - he didn’t want you to be mad at yourself for it. He wanted to keep you safe. That’s all any of us want.”

“You’re not alone, Bren,” Dallon said softly. “You’ll never be alone. We won’t let you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Mikey Way


	13. Guns for Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know what you think in the morning  
> When the sun shines on the ground  
> It shows what you have done  
> It shows where your mind has gone  
> And you swear to your parents  
> that it will never happen again  
> I know, I know what that means  
> I know
> 
> (Guns for Hands)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter's placement is kinda funky? Because it takes place after the beginning of Spencer and Brendon's chapters, but before the end. I just kinda stuck it here - which was originally a Ryan chapter, but has since been removed. (There's a reason for that, but it's a secret.) 
> 
> Warnings: Major warning for self-harm in this one, but I think that's it
> 
> EDIT: I JUST REALIZED I POSTED THIS ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE MCR SPLIT I'M SO SORRY

Mikey hated Gerard. 

Not really, of course. Mikey way could never  _ really  _ hate his brother. Not when they were practically joined at the hip - to the point that his parents had been a little concerned when they were in their younger teens. 

But this was taking it too far.

Ever since finding out about Mikey’s self-harm, Gerard had taken to following his younger brother everywhere. He insisted he sleep in his room. He made him pee with the door open when their parents weren’t home, and gave him a minute alone when they were. He even sat in the bathroom as Mikey showered. The only reprieve he ever got was when he was at school, and even then it seemed that Gerard had convinced Frank to follow him around.

Mikey was a very private person, and this… this was like taking everything he had ever taken for granted and stealing it away.

“Gee, seriously, you don’t have to walk me home,” he grumbled, glancing at Frank from the corner of his eye. Frank shrugged, smiling that damned smile at him that meant that he found the whole situation amusing. Well, good for him - glad someone was enjoying this.

“You can never be too careful, Mikes,” Gerard replied, sweeping his currently blonde hair out of his eyes lazily. He didn’t say  _ what  _ he was being careful of, but Mikey knew. Of course he knew.

“I’m a senior. Seniors don’t get walked to and from school by their big brothers,” he complained, sending Frank a  _ please help, I’ll love you forever if you do  _ look. Frank shrugged at him again, the smile on his face growing more teasing. 

“I don’t know, I like when Gee walks with us,” he said, grinning as Mikey’s eyebrows furrowed even more. He laughed, scampering away when the tall boy leaned over to hit him. Mikey decided he needed to get new friends.

“Fuck off, Frank,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and stomping ahead. 

Frank yelped and chased after him, pressing close to his side. Gerard ambled along behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching like the guardian angel Mikey had never wanted. “My dad’s still out there,” Frank muttered in Mikey’s ear. “Having someone else around feels a little bit safer, ya know?” 

Mikey nodded, feeling guilty, and tossed an arm around the younger boy’s neck, chokehold style. “Sokay, Frankie, I understand,” he replied, rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles. “Short stuff,” he added, a smile teasing his lips.

“Fuck off,” Frank whined, ducking away from Mikey. “Gee, your brother’s an ass!”

“Where d’ya think I get it from?” Mikey smirked, grinning at the way his brother glared at him. Frank fell back to talk to Gerard, and Mikey let the smile slip from his face, returning to his typical bored, sad expression.

_ “There are a million sorrows in your eyes, Michael James,”  _ he imagined their grandmother saying.  _ “A million sorrows and a million joys.”  _

The sorrows sure seemed to be the things controlling his life. He would muster up smiles, putting on grins that could fool everyone except for Gee (and Elena, if she was still here) but they would drop away the second everyone’s back was turned. His wrist itched and tingled, but no matter how much he begged on his worst days, Gerard wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t allowed to touch anything sharp, not allowed to hold a pair of scissors - Mikey was surprised that he was able to cut his own steak at dinner the previous night.

He just needed one little nick, and then he would be okay. He’d know he was alive.

The Way brothers walked Frank to his complex, even though it was farther from the school and they would have to backtrack to head home. With all his concerns about his father, they were reluctant to let him walk the few blocks alone - on that, they were in agreement. On the way back to their house, Gerard grabbed Mikey by the arm and pulled him closer, annoyed by the way he was walking so far ahead.

“I’ll back off,” he said, glaring at a spot just above Mikey’s head. “I’ll leave you alone sometimes, and if you’re really okay, I’ll stop staying at the house, go back to the apartment - but I’m still gonna check. I’m gonna check every single time, and if there’s something new, we’ll have to have a serious talk.”

Mikey felt his heart swell just a bit - was that joy? “You… seriously?”

Gerard frowned. “You want me to change my mind?” he asked, crossing his arms. Mikey shook his head quickly, smiling at his brother.

“Just didn’t believe you could be this nice.”

The frown on Gerard’s face softened and he stopped walking long enough to give Mikey a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I’ve just been worried about you, Mikes,” he muttered, pulling away. He started half-jogging down the sidewalk, looking over his shoulder at Mikey’s bewildered expression. “C’mon, last one there has to clean the bathroom.”

* * *

 

Gerard gave Mikey an inch, and he took a mile. 

He started out trying, but slowly, the urge to cut became harder to resist, and the emptiness that he had once been wading through was trying to drown him. He didn’t feel alive anymore, and when he did, he felt so fucked up that he felt needed to punish himself the only way he knew how. 

The blades were hard to come by, with Gerard and Frank still watching him as much as they could, but he managed to slip out of the house when Gee left for his Thursday evening class. He went to the drugstore, and perused the aisles until he found everything he needed, everything that had made up his box until Gee had thrown it away. Then he threw a few random things on top, to avoid any jumping to conclusions by cashiers - even if their conclusions would be right.

He had just enough time to get home and put together his kit, hiding it at the back of his closet before Gerard got home. (It wasn’t the best place, he decided, but it was better than under the bed, where it had been the last time - Gee would look there.)

Mikey still held off as long as possible, but eventually he couldn’t take it. Once again, Gee was out at a class, so he locked himself in his room and pulled down the kit. When he was done, he felt the familiar feeling of relief and guilt. He carefully cleaned the blades and dressed the wounds, tucking everything away.

_ This time, Gee won’t find out, _ Mikey reminded himself as he went to bed that night, guilt eating away at his conscience.  _ This time, I’ll be more careful. _

Gerard kept his promise of checking Mikey’s wrists and arms each night, making sure all was well with his little brother. He was satisfied to see them clean, but for ancient scars that only grew older. He never thought to check Mikey’s hips and thighs, which he kept safely out of sight.

* * *

 

Frank was the one who found out.

It was Mikey’s fault - as Gerard moved out and began to trust him more, he grew more careless. He no longer needed to hide his kit of self-destruction at the top of his closet unless Gee came over, and even then it was normally only long enough to pick Mikey up and take him to some gathering of some sort. Frank, who had cared, but had figured this was mostly something between the brothers, had started to back off as well, for which Mikey was incredibly grateful. Unfortunately, that all came crashing down far too soon.

Mikey had left the kit out on his desk, completely forgetting the plastic pencil case held his darkest secret. When Frank came over to work on one of the last projects of their high school career, he didn’t bother to hide it away. He slipped out for a moment, just long enough to get pizza from the deliveryman at the door, and in that time Frank found it.

Frank glanced over at the desk, frowning when he saw the black pencil case sitting on the corner - the kind that kindergarteners use in class. He was pretty sure he had never seen it before. He stood up, peering more closely at it. Without really thinking about it, Frank reached out to open the box, jumping back when he saw what was inside.

Packaged gauze and rolls of medical tape lay next to a tube of Neosporin and - most terrifyingly - a pair of exacto knife blades, four strips of metal pried from a razor in a plastic bag, and the blade from pencil sharpener. His breath caught in his throat as he heard Mikey coming back up the stairs, more than likely carrying the pizza that Frank had been excited for just a few moments before.

“Hey, so, I was thinking,” Mikey said, appearing in the doorway with the pizza balanced in his hands. “We should totally make the ribosomes be like, skittles.” Frank had completely forgotten about the edible cell model they were supposed to make for their Biology class, too preoccupied by what he had found. Mikey paused as he placed the pizza box on his bed, staring at his friend when he didn’t comment on his  _ brilliant  _ idea. “Frank? You okay?”

Frank turned to his friend, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m fine… but you’re not,” he said softly, staring at his friend’s exposed arms. Mikey shifted uncomfortably, thoughts suddenly going to the scars and relatively new cuts marking his thighs and upper arms. His eyes landed on the pencil box on his desk and widened behind his glasses. It was  _ open. _

“F-Frank?” he stuttered out, blinking at his friend with a look of fear on his face. Maybe that wasn’t what he had meant, maybe Frank didn’t notice…

“Where did you do it, Mikey?” he asked, crossing his arms. Something about his voice had gone stern, no longer sounding as relaxed about this. He had been too lax for too long, clearly. It was time for him to start worrying about his friend. 

“I didn’t,” Mikey insisted, glaring at him in a way that was, in all honesty, terrifying. “I’m  _ fine,  _ Frank, perfectly  _ fine.  _ I don’t know why you don’t believe me, but I’m better.”

“You aren’t. Because that,” Frank pointed at the box, hand shaking, “is just proof that you’re really not better.” 

“Get out,” Mikey said, almost too soft for Frank to hear him. “Just get  _ out.  _ You obviously don’t trust me, so take the damn pizza and go. And if you ever tell Gee about this… you don’t want to find out what will happen.” 

The look on Mikey’s face was so serious and terrifying that Frank ran. It reminded him too much of his childhood, constantly being glared at and beaten up by his father and, later, his stepfather. Mikey felt bad as he watched Frank snatch up his backpack and grab his shoes, not even bothering to put them on before he was darting out the door, but he was upset and hurt. He hadn’t known what to do, and he had lashed out in the way that he had sworn to himself he wouldn’t - at least, not with Frank, who had experienced so much hatred so early in his life.

Tears filled his eyes, and he collapsed to the floor with a sob, ignoring the pizza that still sat on his bed. Without even really thinking about it, he crawled towards his desk and pulled out his blades. He had fucked up so badly, he had hurt his best friend, and he was lying to everyone who cared about him. He was so messed up. How could anyone love him?

Mikey didn’t even realize what he had done until he was staring at his bleeding wrists and legs and arms, unable to really fathom just  _ how much  _ he had cut himself. Though none of the wounds were particularly deep, save for a few on his thigh and scattered on his arms, he was a mess. He dragged himself into the bathroom, thanking every god he could think of that his parents were visiting his sick aunt for a couple of weeks.

For the rest of the weekend, he ignored all phone calls, even those from Patrick. He only answered his mother’s nightly calls in an effort to assure her that everything was fine - even though it certainly wasn’t.

Mikey didn’t show up to school on Monday, which didn’t surprise Frank, though the younger boy grew worried he wouldn’t show up on Tuesday when their project was due. He ended up turning in a half-assed version of the edible cell, which he had thrown together without Mikey’s input the night before, just in case, not wanting the other boy’s grade to suffer because he was a tactless idiot. He tried to incorporate some of their pre-determined plans, but, fun fact: Frank really sucked at making cookie cakes. 

After present the disaster project he had made, Frank sent a text to Pete begging the college sophomore to swing by the Ways when he had a chance. He figured that Mikey would be more reasonable if the older boy checked on him, and he didn’t want Gerard to freak out until the last possible minute.

Mikey wasn’t particularly prepared for Pete to appear in his bedroom, however. He was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, too tired and upset to even relocate to the bed. One of the exacto knife blades was resting on his knee, glinting innocently in the light of his bedside lamp.

Pete opened the door and was horrified to see one of his best friends calmly watching  the blood drip from his wrist and onto the stained pajama pants he had been wearing since Saturday. “Mikey? Shit, fuck, why?” There were tears streaming down his face already when Mikey looked up, startled by the sight of Pete.

Pete hurried to his side, spotting the kit sitting in front of Mikey and the towel beside it. His stomach turned when he realized just how experienced Mikey was - it reminded him too much of how he had been in the months and years before trying to kill himself. He had been lucky enough to have Patrick to lean on, but Mikey kept pushing people away more than Pete ever had…

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Mikey said, and Pete winced when he heard how broken his friend was. The younger boy, who normally hid any sign of emotion, was breaking down, and it didn’t take seeing the number of new red marks covering his arms -  _ too many,  _ Pete thought,  _ all over his arms, and all too fresh  _ \- to see that. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Mikey,” Pete muttered, carefully wrapping Mikey’s arms in gauze. He didn’t want to think about how likely it was that the younger boy had neglected to wrap them each night, how he had probably left them susceptible to infections without caring. 

“Please don’t call Gee,” Mikey whispered when he was done, curling himself into Pete’s lap.

_ Gee.  _ Pete knew how upset Mikey’s brother would be if he found out… but it would be so much worse if Pete didn’t tell him. He wasn’t sure how Frank had kept himself from telling Gerard about the kit that he had seen the other day, but he couldn’t do that. Gerard had to know, if no one else did.

“I’ve gotta, Mikey,” he said, carefully untangling an arm and tugging his phone from the back pocket of his skinny jeans. He ignored Mikey’s protests, quickly finding the elder Way’s contact and dialing it.

“Hello?” Gerard sounded groggy, which wasn’t unusual. He had probably spent most of the previous night working on his latest art project. Pete had probably woken him up. He tried not to feel too guilty about that, reminding himself that Mikey was far more important than his brother’s fucked up sleeping schedule.

“Get to your parent’s house, quick. It’s Mikey,” Pete said, speaking faster than he thought possible, before hanging up. He carefully wrapped his arm back around the taller boy, giving his best effort to pull him to his feet. “C’mon man, work with me. We need to get some food in you, you look like you haven’t eaten in a year.”

Mikey smiled wanly at that, as he was almost always stick-thin. The joke was overused, something that nearly everyone commented on. However, he let his friend pull him up, and even walked by himself to the kitchen. He settled at the breakfast booth in the corner, pulling his knees up to tuck them under his chin. He watched Pete make them grilled cheese, probably one of the only things he could make and make well. 

Pete was just setting the sandwiches on the table when they heard the door open. Mikey curled into himself even more, not wanting to see his brother and own up to his mistakes. He grabbed part of his sandwich - Pete had cut it into quarters, just how Mikey preferred it - and began nibbling on it as a distraction, eyes cast downwards as Pete went to meet his brother in the living room.

It seemed like far too soon before Gerard was sliding into the booth next to him, sadness written across his face like some of Frank’s song lyrics. “Mikes,” he whispered, and it took everything in Mikey not to start crying. 

Carefully his older brother pulled his arms away from his body, inspecting the bandages Pete had hastily wrapped around Mikey’s arms. They went all the way up to his elbows, and there were more peeking from under the sleeves of the younger Way’s t-shirt. He pulled his brother into a hug, pressing a kiss into his head as Mikey began to cry into his chest. His hands knotted in Gerard’s shirt, and he began to stain it with his tears. 

Pete smiled tightly, taking his sandwich and slipping away towards the door. He nodded at the Way brothers, leaving the house silently with his grilled cheese in hand. Gerard was pressed a kiss onto Mikey’s head, whispering soothingly in his ear.

“You’re gonna come back to the apartment with me, okay? It’s just Ray and I, I promise, I just don’t trust you to be alone right now,” he was saying. 

Mikey nodded, letting Gerard pull him from the booth. He picked up another slice of his sandwich - because Pete was actually really good at making grilled cheese - and carried it with him as he followed his brother back to his bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe as Gerard pulled out one of his old backpacks, stuffing it with clothes, bandages, and medical supplies. He threw Mikey’s phone and charger on top, making sure he had the headphones tightly wrapped around it, and zipped it up, slinging it over his shoulder.

“C’mon, Mikes,” he said softly, walking him out of the house with a hand on his elbow. 

The ride to Gerard’s apartment was silent and tense. Mikey was a little terrified his brother would yell at him - after all, he had fucked up, bad. He had lied, betrayed Gee’s trust. He didn’t deserve to be looked after and cared for like he was doing. 

Gerard was just worried, terrified that the slightest unexpected movement would set Mikey off. He didn’t want his little brother to break down - not again. 

Ray was in the living room when they finally climbed the stairs, Gerard purposely hanging back to keep an eye on his younger brother. He looked at the younger boy with concern, but Mikey disappeared into Gerard’s room before he could say anything.

“Come help me put away the sharp stuff,” Gerard said to Ray, heading for the bathroom. “I’m gonna do this right, this time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Patrick Stump


	14. Screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't see past my own nose, I'm seeing everything in slo-mo  
> Look out below crashing down to the ground just like a vertical locomotive  
> That's a train, am I painting the picture that's in my brain?  
> A train from the sky, locomotive, my motives are insane  
> My flow's not great, okay, I conversate with people  
> Who know if I flow on a song I'll get no radio play  
> While you're doing fine, there's some people and I  
> Who have a really tough time getting through this life  
> So excuse us while we sing to the sky.
> 
> I'm standing in front of you  
> I'm standing in front of you  
> I'm trying to be so cool  
> Everything together trying to be so cool
> 
> (Screen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, because I couldn't concentrate on the NEXT chapter until I posted this one, and this was already written so. Here. Also, you may notice that I changed this from 18 chapters, to 17. This is because I was a dumb and miscounted. Sorry?  
> It may interest someone to know that there are little bits of my attempt at a multichap story with some cohesive plot that I salvaged and played with in this chapter, as well as in those belonging to Frank and Pete.
> 
> Warnings: Panic attacks, anxiety, and underage drinking 
> 
> And now, the long-awaited Patrick chapter! I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Pete was running late from wherever he was. When he finally got to his house, Patrick was waiting for him on his front porch. He plastered a smile onto his face, wrapping an arm around him from behind. “Hey, Lunchbox, sorry I’m late - I had a thing,” he said as the younger boy jumped.

“What thing?” Patrick asked, waiting for Pete to unlock the door. He was bouncing on his toes anxiously, biting his lip and twisting his fingers together, but he forced a smile onto his face when Pete glanced back at him.

“It was just a thing, ‘Trick,” he said, shaking his head. He pushed the door open, pulling the boy in behind him. “Would you calm down? You’re kinda freaking me out.” 

Patrick froze, staring at the scuffed toes of his Converse. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I just. Nevermind.”

Pete frowned, toeing off his shoes and hanging his jacket on a peg. He turned back to his best friend, leaning against the wall. “What’s wrong?” 

The younger boy jumped, nearly hitting his back against the wall of behind him. He scrambled out of the entryway and into the living room with a red face, panting a little in a way that concerned Pete. “‘Trick?” he asked, reaching towards his friend. “Seriously, you okay?”

Patrick took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and then looked at Pete with a smile on his face. “I’m fine, just had a long day, is all. Parents are on top of me to figure out my life, that’s all.”

Pete frowned at him, but nodded, accepting his answer. “In that case, let’s go play MarioKart and get your mind off it!” he said, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom. 

Patrick stumbled after Pete, looking a little worse for the wear, but he forced himself to send Pete a bright smile anytime the older boy turned to look at him. It was exhausting, but Patrick was practiced in the art of making Pete believe everything was fine. He had to be, to keep a secret like his from someone who knew him so well.

“Hey ‘Trick?” Pete said after Patrick’s character fell over the edge of Rainbow Road for the fiftieth time. 

“Hm?” 

“I was thinking - you know how I play bass and you’re good at, like, anything that has to do with music?” Pete waited for Patrick to nod slowly, grinning at the way the shorter boy blushed at the compliment. “And Joe plays guitar and Andy kills the drums?”

Again Patrick nodded, growing uneasier the longer it took Pete to get to the point. “Well, I was thinking that we should start a band, the four of us,” he finally rushed out.

Patrick whipped around to look at Pete, ignoring Luigi’s indignant cry as he was sent spiraling off-course in the game. “W-What?” he stuttered, palms already beginning to sweat. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he was sure that Gerard could hear it from where he currently sat in his art class across town. 

_ I can’t do that, I can’t perform in front of an audience, doesn’t Pete remember the disaster that was my kindergarten play? _

“I-I just remembered that I have to go somewhere and do a… a thing. For school. With, um, Frank and, uh, Jamia. History,” he lied, throwing his remote to the floor and grabbing his jacket. “See ya!” He turned, running for the door and yanking the jacket on, not stopping when Pete called after him.

“Patrick! Wait!” Pete yelled, watching him go, but he was already out the door and disappearing into the night.

* * *

 

A few months later, Patrick say in his room, alone. 

Patrick hugged his arms to his body, and slowly stopped shaking. Each panic attack had been getting worse and worse since he had stopped taking his medication, and it was slowly starting to terrify him. He had to tell Pete, as his best friend was becoming worried about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when, really this was his fault - he was the one who was throwing his meds away each morning and night, rather than taking them. (Joe would  probably kill him for this, if and when he found out.)

“It’ll be fine,” he promised himself, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the cool wall behind him. He slowly let his fingers release where they were digging into his arms, wincing when he saw the scarlet blood drops dripping from crescent shaped wounds. “That’s cool. That’s fine.”

“Hey, ‘Trick! You ready to go?” Pete called from downstairs. Patrick nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of another person in the house until he remembered that he had told Pete where the spare key was.

“Y-yeah,” he called back, wincing at the way his voice shook. “Hold on a second.” He pushed himself up with the palms of his hands and used the wall to support him until his legs decided to work.

The door creaked open, and Pete burst through it with his backpack slung over his back, a huge grin on his face. The grin fell as his eyes landed on Patrick, pale and shaky against the wall, with his hair mussed from twisting his fingers in it anxiously. Patrick looked and felt like a deer in the headlights, frozen, wide-eyed, and unable to make his muscles work.

“P-Pete, hey,” he managed, smiling in a way that was a little more awkward than normal.

Pete took a few cautious steps closer to Patrick, looking as if he thought he would frighten the smaller boy off if he moved too fast. Patrick’s smile turned into a grimace as he pushed himself away from the wall, holding up his hands as if to say, ‘look, I’m fine.’

“Are you okay?” Pete asked softly, eyes giving away his concern. Patrick nodded quickly, leaning down to pick up his packed duffle bag. His hand wrapped around one of the straps, but suddenly Pete was at his side, pulling Patrick’s other arm closer to inspect it. Patrick yelped at the unexpected contact, jumping back and almost dropping the black bag.

“Christ, Pete, you scared me,” he snapped, closing his eyes for a moment to catch his breath – difficult, considering the panic attack he had finished having only moments before.

“Sorry,” Pete mumbled, sounding distant. His eyes remained trained on the nail marks on Patrick’s upper arm. He slowly wiped away a bubble of blood, eyebrow furrowed as he inspected the red smear and the stain on his thumb that it left behind. “The fuck is this, Patrick?” he asked, finally looking up.

Patrick shifted uncomfortably as Pete’s eyes searched his own. “It’s nothing,” he lied, startled by the way the words slid from his tongue easily. He carefully shook his arm free from Pete’s hand. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“This isn’t nothing,” Pete insisted, gesturing to Patrick’s arm. “This is most definitely something.”

Patrick sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly. “Can we not do this now?” he asked softly, looking at Pete with pleading eyes.

“Fine,” Pete agreed. “We’ll do this when everyone else is around to act as witnesses.”

Patrick’s eyes widened, and he began frantically shaking his head. Tears filled his eyes, and thoughts of  _ no, no, not in front of everyone, they can’t know, they have too much on their plates already, please no, if you love me at all, you won’t do that to me,  _ ran through his head. He felt himself sinking to the floor, still shaking his head, and his hand released its grip in his duffle bag to cover his face.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry,” Pete said, setting his bag calmly on the floor before lunging towards Patrick. He wrapped his short limbs around his friend’s small frame, running a hand through soft ginger hair and making soothing shushing sounds. “What did I do? How can I help?”

“J-Joe knows. He-He sh-should be here s-soon,” Patrick gasped out. He wasn’t too surprised this was happening, though the timing sucked – being confronted with something that triggered his anxiety before he had fully recovered from his previous panic attack was a recipe for disaster.

“Joe. Right. Fuck. Where the fuck is he?” Pete looked like he was trying not to cry. The guilt and concern on his face formed such strange combination that Patrick wanted to laugh, except he couldn’t. Not when breathing currently felt more impossible than rocket science.

Just when it was starting to reach the point that Patrick felt like he was going to die, when his throat was so tight and his chest so constricted that his lungs seemed to have simply stopped working, they heard Patrick’s front door open and Joe yelling for them. “We’re in Patrick’s room, please hurry,” Pete yelled back, tears blurring his vision.

Joe and Andy burst into the room in a way that was only mildly less panicked than Patrick felt. When Joe saw the way Patrick was fighting for air with his hands shoved behind the lenses of his glasses, he threw his backpack to the ground and searched Patrick’s dresser for the aerosol inhaler. “Andy, go get water. Pete, move back a little and get his hands off his face,” he called over his shoulder, finally locating the inhaler and beginning to shake it.

Andy disappeared into the hallway, looking frightened, and Pete moved back, pulling off Patrick’s glasses and prying his hands away from his eyes. He kept rubbing Patrick’s back with one hand and carefully gripped his wrists with the other, watching as Joe knelt in front of the ginger boy.

He took Patrick’s chin in his hand, muttering for Patrick to focus on breathing, and inserted the inhaler into his mouth. Once the burst of air was released into the smallest boy’s lungs, he steadily began to breathe a little better, and Pete could feel the way his muscles slowly relaxed. “S-Sorry,” he stuttered out after a few moments, taking the water Andy had returned with gratefully.

“Was that my fault?” Pete asked in a very small voice, looking distraught.

Patrick shook his head quickly, eyes widening anxiously. “No!” he cried, running a hand through the hair that Pete had tried so hard to smooth down during the panic attack. “It was entirely mine. Don’t… Don’t worry about it, Petey, I’m fine.”

Joe frowned at Patrick, rolling his eyes. He was under the firm belief that Patrick needed to tell the others about his anxiety so they could help him, and had been telling him so since he had first seen the boy have a panic attack. Patrick was under the firm belief that Joe was crazy, and that their friends had plenty of other, more important things to worry about.

“lf Patrick’s still up for it, we should probably head to Gerard and Ray’s,” Andy said finally, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the room. Patrick sent him a grateful look and nodded vigorously, reaching back down to pick up his bag. “Great, are we still taking my car?” 

The four boys - young men, really - piled into Andy’s van, Patrick squeezing himself in the back between boxes of various and anon objects (Pete was looking for an apartment and storing his stuff in the van in the meantime) and Pete himself. Joe sent him a meaningful look as he settled into the passenger seat, before launching into a story about something ridiculous that had happened at the WalMart he currently worked at. Patrick didn’t know what had happened this time - he wasn’t paying attention.

Pete didn’t really seem to be either, and, as Andy was driving, Joe was more than likely talking to the air at this point. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he was probably speaking to fill up the silence that would have ensued otherwise.

They finally reached the half of town that housed the college campus (his new school, once the fall semester started) and Andy pulled into the parking lot of an old-looking apartment building. A few kids their age hung out of windows and sat around on balconies, smoking who-knows-what, and there was one  _ very  _ young mother with a small boy running around her in dizzying circles. Otherwise the complex seemed abandoned - it soon wouldn’t, however, once the others showed up. 

Patrick and Pete headed up first, carrying their bags and a six-pack that Pete claimed came from nowhere special. (They both knew that was bullshit.) On the way, they passed Frank sitting on the stairs, a cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers. “Hey guys,” he grinned, eyes lighting up when he saw the beer. “Score, that’s not the gross shit.”

“I know, right?” Pete laughed, holding the pack closer to Frank. “Want one ahead of time?”

The short boy looked like was going to say yes, but he shook his head after a long moment. “Promised Gee I’d stay sober this time ‘round,” he said apologetically. “I’m gonna be on guard duty - no letting teenagers near the booze.”

Patrick grinned, finally forcing words to leave his lips - he had barely spoken since leaving his house. “It’s cool, man. I’d probably do the same.”

Frank nodded, and gestured towards the landing behind him. “Don’t let me keep you. It’s unlocked,” he said, scooting to the side to let them pass. Patrick led the way into the first apartment on the right, hands only shaking a bit as he reached out to open the door. 

No one was in the living room, but Patrick expected as much. Pete wandered into the kitchen to deposit their beer, and Patrick took their bags to what was generally known as Ray’s bedroom (though half the time he ended up sleeping in really, really odd places) and tossing them into a small pile in the corner. He returned to the living room feeling less weighed down, and a little bit more exposed. He couldn’t hold his duffle in front of his face to hide from people’s eyes when it was in Ray’s room. (He shoved that thought away - these were his friends, they weren’t here to judge him.)

“Hey Patrick.”

Patrick nearly jumped when he heard Brendon’s all-too-loud voice, and the younger boy nearly tackled him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Hey, Bren,” he stuttered out, awkwardly patting Brendon on the back.

“Can you believe that I’m gonna be a senior?” he asked, bouncing on his toes. Patrick resisted the urge to place a hand on his shoulder and keep him still. “How cool right?”

“Way cool, Brendon,” he said, trying to keep his tone from conveying the exhaustion that was starting to hit him. Two panic attacks in quick succession were not good party prep.

The smile fell off of Brendon’s face, and he stopped bouncing, biting his lip. “Sorry, you, uh, probably don’t care,” he muttered, starting to walk away.  _ Shit,  _ Patrick thought. This was exactly why he didn’t want Brendon to know he was tired - the boy took that to heart after being basically abandoned earlier that summer by most of the people he was really close to.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said softly, and wow, was it warm in here or was it just him? “I’m just tired Bren, you know I can’t wait to cheer you on as you walk across that stage.”

The younger boy’s grin slowly returned. “Right?” he asked finally, and Patrick breathed a happy sigh of relief. “I was thinking about what I want to do - gotta go out with a bang, right? Maybe I could twerk halfway across stage or something, I dunno yet.”

“Good thing you’ve got a year to figure it out,” Patrick reminded him. 

“Yeah but I gotta know beforehand… maybe Sarah has an idea - see ya later!” With that, Brendon rushed off, leaving Patrick alone again. He was okay with that, unlike his younger friend - being alone was safe. All that talk about Brendon’s graduation had brought back memories, anyway. Memories of the terrifying walk across the stage as his peers stared at him and his friends cheered way too loud. The only saving grace was that Joe had walked not too long after him, and someone had yelled out “that’s the 'fro dude!” from the audience, effectively making him feel forgotten about - just how he liked it.

That, and the way he and Frank and Joe and Halsey and Jamia and Mikey were crushed into a thousand hugs from friends and friends’ families and it felt like the good kind of chaos - the kind that felt like home and love and safety.

Patrick drifted through the crowd, stopping to press kisses to the cheeks of Jenna and Debby, who looked shaky but happy in the soft glow of the fairy lights Gerard had hung in the living room. He stopped to receive hugs and high-fives from close friends, friends from their group, the ones he had grown up with. He exchanged head nods and quick pleasantries with the people he didn’t know, people from the others’ jobs and classes that were friends to them, but acquaintances to him. All he needed was their group - Pete, Andy, and Joe, especially. This was like a crush of people, which he tried to hide from in darkened corners while holding cups of beer that he didn’t drink that much of. A difficult task, seeing as he was currently standing in a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment with more people in it than there probably had ever been, ever.

He prayed that Pete would find an apartment soon, preferably one bigger than the one they were standing in.

It seemed like no time had passed, and also a million years, before Lindsey found him, pushing through the throng of people to pull him out of his corner and to the landing in front of the door. “We need to talk,” she said in his ear, looking worried, and tugging him by the sleeve through the crowd.

( _ It’s really not that many people, ‘Trick, that’s just your crazy talking,  _ said the voice in his head. The voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Pete.)

(Because of that, he felt like tossing a silent,  _ “You are my crazy”  _ back was slightly less insane than it seemed.)

Outside, it was a bit chilly without all the people and the sun - Patrick felt like he could think better here. “What’s up?” he asked, ignoring the way she was watching him with a kind of love and concern in her eyes that could only be challenged by Pete. Lindsey stared at him a moment more before speaking.

“How long have you been having panic attacks?” she asked finally, crossing her arms across her chest. Patrick’s face went red, and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“W-what?” he asked, stumbling backwards a bit. She reached out a hand to steady him, not commenting on the fact that there was no way he was tipsy enough for that to be why he was unsteady.

“Pete’s drunk off his ass, and he mentioned what happened today,” she explained, stepping to the side to let the person from the apartment across the landing go up the stairs. They looked at her like she was crazy but she ignored it, far too used to being judged by now. Patrick wondered how she had gotten skin thick enough to ignore that. “C’mon, Patrick talk to me.”

Patrick looked at his feet, at the same dirty toes of his Converse that he had been staring at since he was fifteen - the once-white rubber was stained gray and brown but he couldn’t afford to replace them at the moment. “Since I was eleven or twelve,” he mumbled, his voice cracking like the rubber toes of his shoes.

Lindsey frowned, pulling him towards her gently and giving him a hug. “Oh, honey,” she said, rubbing his back soothingly. Patrick blinked back tears, refusing to let himself cry on her shoulder like a little kid.

“I have social anxiety,” he admitted quietly, stepping back from the hug for a moment. “That’s… that’s why I haven’t really been around as much. Too many people just…” He shrugged, looking apologetic and guilty, as if it was entirely his fault that he had an anxiety disorder, and not genetics or whatever had caused the chemicals to be a little funny in his brain.

“Patrick, you need to tell him,” she said softly, knowing he’d know she meant Pete. “When I left him, he was glaring at his beer like it would tell him what was wrong with you. He’s  _ worried.  _ They all are.”

Patrick bit his bottom lip, unable to meet her eyes. “That’s why I can’t tell them,” he replied. “They aren’t supposed to worry about me. I’m just… just Patrick.”

“Well, ‘Just Patrick,’ you have a shitload of friends who know when something’s wrong and want nothing more than to help you,” she teased, eyes serious even as a small smile played on her lips. “And I know you’re like Mr. Worry-wart when it comes to some of them, but you have to let us help you. That’s what we do. Help each other.”

“I… Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay? Good,” Lindsey replied, tugging him into another hug. He accepted this one, not pulling away in shame, even as the tears finally began to fall onto her shoulder. She didn’t jump away in disgust or call him a little kid, and he realized that maybe she was right - there was no reason for people who had known him all his life, even in his chubby teenage years, to judge him for anything. He would tell them, and it would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Debby Ryan and Jenna Black


	15. Tear in My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's the tear in my heart, I'm alive,  
> She's the tear in my heart, I'm on fire,  
> She's the tear in my heart, Take me higher,  
> Than I've ever been.
> 
> My heart is my armor,  
> She's the tear in my heart, she's a carver,  
> She's a butcher with a smile, cut me farther,  
> Than I've ever been.
> 
> (Tear in My Heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *has four math assignments due tomorrow* *has self portrait to work on for art* *has test in Math to study for*  
> Me:... *writes fanfiction* 
> 
> LOOK AN ESTABLISHED COUPLE. AND FLUFF. (sort of) GO ME. Also, writing this had me like wow, I'm so bi. And also, I should write f/f ships more often tbh, because this isn't great. yikes.
> 
> Warnings: Homophobia], asshole Ryan Ross

Jenna stood outside of Debby’s house, tugging her sweater tighter around herself. She knocked once more on the other girl’s window, gritting her teeth against the breeze. Her breath caught as the window was pushed open, and the redhead peered down at her.

“Jen?” Debby asked, blinking sleepily. “What is it?”

“I miss you,” Jenna pouted, blushing to her ears. “Please come down? Just for a bit?” 

Debby sighed, peeking over her shoulder for a moment. “Okay, let me get a jacket,” she said finally, disappearing from the window for a moment. Jenna resisted the urge to dance at the victory, knowing it could very well cause her to fall and wake up Debby’s family. Debby reappeared at the window a moment later, wearing a hoodie over her baggy t-shirt, and jiggled the ancient screen for a moment before it broke away. She carefully pulled it into the house, placing it on the floor, before shimmying out the window, landing in a heap by Jenna’s feet.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Jenna whispered, pulling her to her feet. Debby rolled her eyes, leaning down a little to press a kiss to the corner of the shorter girl’s mouth.

“Where are we going tonight?” she asked, slipping her hand into Jenna’s. It was cold, far too cold, in Debby’s opinion, so she let the sleeve of her hoodie slide over their joined hands, smiling softly. 

Jenna’s tiny, content smile and shrug were answer enough for her. “What’s that poem-song thing that Pete wrote? ‘I don’t know where we’re going, but do you have room for one more troubled soul?’” she joked. Debby rolled her eyes, dropping a kiss on the side of her head. 

Without thinking about it, they ended up at the park in the middle of their neighborhood. It wasn’t the most subtle of places - she could think of at least three of their friends who snuck out here on a semi-regular basis - but it was dark, and far enough from their houses that they felt safe to be together. 

They settled on the grass by the holding pond, staring at the water and each other for a while, before Jenna moved herself in to Debby’s lap. The redhead got a face-full of blonde hair, and protested around it until Jenna turned herself around. 

“Jen, why?” Debby frowned, leaning back just enough to look at the other girl’s face. Jenna shrugged, grinning down at her fondly.

“I was cold. You’re wearing a hoodie and pj pants,” she pointed out, shivering a little in her shorts and tank-top as she said this. Debby raised her eyebrows, pulling on the sleeve of the younger girl’s thin sweater.

“And whose fault is that?” she teased, before getting an idea. “I know what will warm you up.” A small smirk slid onto Jenna’s face.

If asked, Debby would say that kissing Jenna was probably what heaven felt like. (Jenna would say kissing Debby was like kissing an angel - Jenna was more straightforward, though, even if she did tend to spend more time around Tyler and all of his analogies.) Her hands started on the younger girl’s shoulders, pulling her down towards her so she could more easily slide her tongue into her mouth, but they slowly migrated to pressed against her back. Jenna’s own hands dropped to her hips, cold fingers finding the place where Debby’s hoodie and t-shirt rode up. She gingerly bit at her girlfriend’s lower lip, tugging on it softly until the older girl moaned into her mouth and twisted her fingers into the back of her tanktop. 

A stick snapped, and someone cursed, and the two girls leapt apart. “Fuck, someone’s here,” Debby hissed, pulling Jenna along as she climbed to her feet.

Jenna followed her, head still reeling a little from being so thoroughly kissed in the middle of the night. “How are you not even phased right now?” she asked, a little awed. Debby shrugged, smiling at her through her hair as they ran. She giggled a little breathlessly, and Jenna decided to believe it was because of the awesome make out session they had going, and not the fact that they were currently running for their lives.

After a few minutes, they stopped, resting against the wrought iron fencing that circled the park and made it look that much creepier at night time Jenna giggled again, eyes trained on the pond that was in the distance, too far away to see so late at night. “I think that was Brendon,” she pointed out, raising her eyebrows. “He’s like, bi as fuck. I don’t think he’d have cared that we were making out by a pond in the middle of the night.”

Debby wiggled her eyebrows a little, though it was difficult to see in the moonlight. “What if it wasn’t just making out?” 

Jenna felt her face heat up, and was immediately glad that it was too dark for them to see properly.  Her girlfriend rarely missed an opportunity to tease her because she blushed at pretty much everything. They slid to the ground, and she rested her head on Debby’s shoulder as they talked quietly. It was one in the morning before they noticed the time, and Jenna reluctantly pulled herself to her feet. Debby yawned, pouting when she held out her hand to help her up.

“Come on, babe,” she said, smiling softly. “Let’s get you home. We have school tomorrow.” 

* * *

“Deb, I don’t wanna do this,” Jenna mumbled, squeezing her girlfriend’s hand. Debby frowned a little, pressing a kiss to the side of Jenna’s head, just above her ear.

“We don’t have to, baby,” she reminded her. “But it’s Tyler and Josh - they’d understand.” 

Jenna paused, thought for a moment, then nodded. Her grip tightened on Debby’s hand as the taller girl rang the doorbell. She held her breath as Josh opened the door and Debby gently let go of her hand. His smile was bright as sunny as always, even though he was obviously confused that the two girls were standing on Tyler’s front porch while his family was at church.

“Debby? Jen?” Tyler appeared over Josh’s shoulder, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’re you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course. Just… it’s early?”

Debby glanced at her girlfriend who nodded, even as she seemed to pull herself further into her oversized sweater. “Can we talk to you? It’s important,” she said finally, smiling a little so they knew no one was in danger. Neither boy responded, but Josh held the door open and stepped out of the way so they could enter. 

Both girls used the wall to remove their boots, carefully lining them up against the wall beside Josh’s Vans. Jenna nearly toppled over, as she was shaking like a leaf, but no one teased her about it. While that would have left her relieved in any other situation, it made her uncomfortable now. Tyler led them into his living room, and he and Josh sat on the couch. As the girls stood before them awkwardly, Debby couldn’t help but feel almost like she was coming out to her parents, rather than two of her best friends.

(Except, her parents would probably kick her out when they found out, unlike Tyler and Josh.)

“I- We,” she glanced over at Jenna, who nodded and motioned for her to keep going, “we’re… not straight? I’m, um, bi, and Jen is lesbian, and um, we’ve been kind of very dating in secret for like. A while.”

“A while,” Josh repeated, a tiny smile on his lips.

“Like, thirteen months,” Jenna clarified, voice small. Josh’s grin grew, and he started laughing while Tyler began to root through his pocket with a pout.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, “I thought you guys were just friends.” 

The girls exchanged glances, silently agreeing to be mad that they were betting on their love lives, later. “One more thing,” Debby added suddenly, reaching out to pull Jenna closer to her. “Can you not tell anyone yet? We aren’t ready for that. With our parents and everything… just coming out to you guys took a lot, and you’re literally the least straight couple ever.”

Both boys nodded, then Josh suggested that they (meaning Tyler) make pancakes for everyone. Just like that, it was over, and everything was okay.

* * *

Nothing is ever really over. Nothing is ever really okay.

This is what Debby told herself as she hid in her closet. She almost started laughing - she had just been outed to her parents, yet here she was, still in the closet. It was like a horrible movie trope come to life. 

She was going to fucking kill Ryan fucking Ross.

It wasn’t enough that he had basically ripped Brendon’s heart out and crushed it on the ground over the summer, that he had ditched Spencer when he needed his friends the most, that he and Jon were constantly bullying them at school. Now he had to go and literally get her and her girlfriend killed. (Well, as soon as her parents found her hiding place, anyway.)

“Why the fuck did he have to go to  _ my  _ church?” she whispered, biting her lip as she heard her father storming through the house. The back door slammed, probably him thinking she had run out that way. She wished she had, but she had panicked and hid in the closet and now she was stuck there.

Footsteps walked into her room, getting closer and closer to her hiding place. They were softer than those of her father, which meant they had to be her mother’s, but that offered little comfort. As the closet door slid open, she wiped tears from her face, steeling herself against the glare that she received from the woman who had claimed to lover her forever. 

“Who are you?” Her voice was calm, calmer than it ever was, and Debby flinched away. “Who are you? Because you are not the daughter I raised. I didn’t raise a daughter to be a fucking dyke.” Debby was shaking like a leaf now, teeth clenched to keep from sobbing. Her mother reached down, pulling her up by her arm and pushing her away from the closet.

“You have thirty minutes to pack, and then I want you gone - before your father gets home.” Debby nodded obediently, reaching for her gym bag from the bottom of her closet. She had been sitting on it while she was hiding, and it would be faster to find than her suitcase. 

Numbly, she dumped its contents on the ground, and began collecting her things. She only took the basics - some clothes, her phone and charger, laptop case, makeup bag, and wallet. A few things she couldn’t live without were thrown on top, among them a picture of her and Jenna, smiling with Hayley, and one of all her friends. The last thing she grabbed was her guitar, carefully packed into its case. When she walked out of the room, her mother followed close behind, eying her to make sure she was really leaving. Her older brother stood in the living room, and tried to catch her eye as she walked past. Debby refused to look at him.

“Don’t come back - you’re not my daughter anymore,” her mother hissed coldly, pushing her out the door. Debby stared at it for a long moment, not quite able to grasp what just happened. When she finally turned away, she looked down at her phone, which was vibrating crazily in her hand. Most of her messages were from Jenna, with a few from other friends. 

* * *

_ JenBlack: Baby whats going on y are u freaking out??? _

_ JenBlack: Holy shit ryro told my parents about us there are pics I’m fucked _

_ JenBlack: DEBBY ARE YOU THERE THEYRE REALLY PISSED _

_ JenBlack: Baby, baby, I have an hour to pack, they’re kicking me out heLP WHAT DO I DO _

_ JenBlack: I can’t stop crying fuck Ryan he needs to go to hell _

_ JenBlack: Baby are u alright? _

_ JenBlack: DEB  _

_ drop deb gorg: mine kicked me out too _

_ JenBlack: fuck what do we do _

_ drop deb gorg: hold on _

_ -drop deb gorg has added LynZ to the chat!- _

_ drop deb gorg: me and Jen got kicked out _

_ LynZ: wtf? Why? What happened?  _

_ drop deb gorg: can we plz come over? _

_ LynZ: yes of course fuck Deb what happened? ??? ??  _

_ drop deb gorg: ill explain l8r can u come get us from the park? _

_ LynZ: be there in 20? _

_ JenBlack: that works _

_ JenBlack: babe r u ok? _

_ -drop deb gorg has left the chat- _

* * *

Debby was okay. She was just shocked. It had only been a short time since her parents came home from church, fuming over the pictures of her and Jenna making out that Ryan Ross had shown them. And now she was kicked out. She was sure that her phone would be shut off within the week - why would her parents keep paying for it? She didn’t have money, though she and Jenna both had jobs, but they were only sixteen and fifteen, respectively. They couldn’t survive on their own.

“Debby!” Jenna barreled into her arms, choking back a sob. “What the fuck? We were his friends.”

“Keyword: were,” she mumbled into Jenna’s hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s gonna be okay, baby, we’ll figure this out.” In truth, she had no idea, but she had to say it or else she would start crying again. Debby couldn’t decide what was worse - sobbing or being numb.

When they reached Lindsey’s apartment, which she shared with her friend, Alicia, Debbyb finally broke down. Jenna held her as she cried into her shoulder, worrying her lip between her teeth. Her sobs had long since stopped, but her eyes remained red-rimmed and tears still stained her cheeks. 

“Sorry to bother you guys,” she said softly, running a hand through Debby’s red hair. “We just didn’t know where to go.”

Alicia smiled from the small breakfast bar, shifting awkwardly. She seemed to be debating with herself for a moment, before she picked up her purse and started for the door. “This seems like a family issue,” she smiled, “So I’m gonna give you guys a little space. Feel free to stay if you need to, though.” She nodded at Lindsey and slipped out, leaving the three of them alone.

“What happened?” she asked, turning to the couple on their couch.

“Ryan happened,” Debby sniffled, pulling away from Jenna and wiping tears on the back of her hand. At the mention of the boy, Lindsey’s eyes hardened. His name was barely tolerated in their group ever since the events of the previous summer. “Jen and I are… are dating, and, and Ryan told our parents and they… kicked us out.” Her words were strangled and unclear through her tears, but Lindsey understood. 

“Fuck,” she mumbled, plopping onto the ground. “Fuck him. I hate that scarf-y little asshole. To think I taught him how to put on eyeliner.” She shook her head angrily, and began to fish around in her boot for her phone.

“We only have the one bedroom, or I’d let you stay here,” she explained, scrolling through her phone with her black-tipped fingers. “I think Ray, Frank, Mikey, and Gee have a spare room - they upgraded their apartment to three bedroom, but they all share two rooms. I can see if they’ll let you stay for a bit.”

Jenna bit her lip, looking over at Debby, who nodded, before she smiled thankfully up at Lindsey. The older girl called Ray, getting up to explain the situation softly in the kitchen. She kept peeking out at them in concern, and when he appeared, he engulfed them both in a hug. Both girls found themselves with a faceful of ‘fro, but it made them giggle a little.

Of course, he was plenty willing to let them stay in the spare bedroom. Frank had apparently ridden along, since Mikey was in class and Gerard had work. Both ensured them that they could stay as long as they needed to, even if that ended up being until they graduated from high school. 

_ Maybe it will be okay,  _ both girls thought as they were engulfed in hug after (slightly soggy) hug that night in Pete’s basement. They had a whole family to help take care of them. They would get through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Hayley Williams


	16. Before You Start Your Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look in the mirror and ask your soul if you're alright  
> Put out the glitter that your soul hides behind  
> You're in my mind  
> I'm singing
> 
> (Before You Start Your Day)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the long awaited Hayley chapter. (Based on one of my favorite TOP songs ugh) This could have been up sooner, but I had my ~~conservative, racist, homophobic, sexist~~ family in town, and as I am ace and bi, and like super feminist it was a stressful time. Also, I've had the Hamilton soundtrack stuck in my head for days and I cannot get it out, and it is not helpful for writing this fic, I'll have you know. 
> 
> Last, there was some weird troll stuff going on in the last chapter's comments. I ignored it. You should too, as I'm too lazy to delete.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: referenced past sexual abuse, paranoia (I think that's it, let me know if there's anything else.)
> 
> Also, ya'll will hate me for this, but Ryan is not entirely awful. Jon is though.

Hayley was upset for weeks after she left. 

Upset at Lindsey, sure, but more at herself. She had walked away from the people who loved her, who protected her at all costs, because someone said a word that she didn’t like. From the moment she had turned the corner from the Way’s street, she wanted to turn around and go back, but she couldn’t. She had fucked this up… maybe it would be better if she stayed out of their lives, at least for a while. 

So she didn’t go back, and she didn’t leave her room, except to sleep and eat and go to class. She ignored Debby and Jenna and Spencer, and all their attempts to talk to her. It hurt too much. 

A small part of her felt like it died that day. She was too broken to realize it.

* * *

“Hayley, come on, don’t be a bitch,” Zac laughed, raising his eyebrows as the boy walked away. His brother nodded from her other side, ruffling her bright orange hair.

“I don’t like him, I’m not gonna lead him on,” she complained, resisting the urge to flinch at the way the boys threw their arms around her shoulders, at the insults that slipped from their mouths as if they weren’t rude and derogatory and sexist.

“Ah, come on,” Josh teased, looking at his brother from over her head. “Least you coulda done was gone on one date - even if you just used him, hump ‘n’ dump style. ‘S better than the friendzone, at least.” 

Hayley’s shoulders tensed at that, and she pushed away from the two boys. “You’re such assholes,” she growled, crossing her arms over her chest. “The friendzone isn’t a fucking thing, first of all - I’m sorry that I don’t like every fucking guy that walks through my life. Second, you’re sexist and just… just jerks. I don’t even know why I hand out with you.”

She stormed away before they could say another word, rubber boots pounding on the sidewalk. It was the second time in three months that she had run away from anyone, but this time it didn’t feel like she was leaving her family behind. The empty feeling in her chest got a little bit stronger, but she didn’t really notice. She didn’t really care.

* * *

“You okay, Williams?”

The small girl jumped, back stiffening as she registered who, exactly, had called out to her. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in her old friend group, of course, and since she had stormed away from Zac and Josh, she was pretty much on her own. A few girls hung out with her from time to time, particularly a sweet sophomore named Melanie, but she had grown accustomed to not really feeling like she belonged. Still, she had kept her ears open any time Jenna or Debby or Spencer were nearby, so she knew enough to make her gaze harden as Ryan walked into her line of sight.

“The Hell do you want?” Hayley asked, crossing her arms. She took a small step backwards, because he was getting close to her, too close for comfort, really. Ryan looked a little surprised and hurt, but she didn’t let it get to her. She had heard what he’d done to Spencer and Brendon.

“You looked lonely,” he replied, stopping in front of her. He left enough space that it was almost awkward, but he wasn’t trying to get close anymore. Hayley almost appreciated it. “Thought you might want some company.”

She glared sharply at him, tucking a strand of her orange hair behind her ear. “Not from you,” she mumbled, stepping back again. “You’re an asshole.”

He looked confused. “What do you-”

“I heard what you did to Smith and Urie,” she spat, heart aching painfully as she said their names. Hayley knew she had lost the privilege to their nicknames a year before, but their last names seemed too impersonal. Too much like it was real. Her fingers dug a little harder into her upper arm. “I’m not impressed.”

Ryan shrugged, looking almost guilty. When looked back up at her, he smiled in the way that she knew had fooled Brendon for years. “Listen, I don’t like them, you don’t like them. I’ve got Jon, but he’s got other people too. You don’t have anybody,” he shrugged at this, as if the words didn’t sting a little, “We need each other.”

Hayley deliberated with the idea. “Fine, okay,” she faid finally, because she was so, so tired of being alone all the time. And yeah, Ryan was an asshole, but her old group avoided him like the plague, meaning she’d be avoided too. He held out his hand, and she cautiously shook it, aware that this would probably end in disaster. She didn’t bother to tell Ryan that she didn’t dislike them - that she missed them more than anything in the world. 

The two of them hung out a lot after that. Sometimes, Jon tagged along, but he quickly became bored when neither of them was quick to immediately begin hating on their old friends. It seemed that he had some sort of vendetta against them, that Ryan almost did too. Hayley felt bad for Brendon. Whenever the boys picked on him at school, she tried to steer clear, offering him a small, apologetic smile if she ended up being around when they teased him. 

Her mother was just happy that she was making friends again, because the more that Hayley hung around the house, the more paranoid she seemed to get. Granted, she often spent the entire time she was out with Ryan looking over her shoulder for her uncle’s silhouette, still huge and intimidating in her mind’s eye. Ryan’s mom was just glad he was hanging out with someone who wasn’t Jon, whom she had deemed a bit of a bad influence. (She was probably right.) 

Ryan showed up on her doorstep one night in October, shaking so badly that his scarf kept falling off his shoulder and he couldn’t knock on the door properly. It was cold, but not that cold, so Hayley knew that something was wrong, and, as much as she was loathe to admit it, she had started to actually sort of care about the asshole. 

“What’s wrong, Ross?” she asked, unable to mask her concern. She ushered him into the house, motioning for him to be quiet as they made their way to the kitchen. “Shit, are you okay? What happened?” 

If Jon had pulled something, he was going to kick his wimpy ass. She had long since figured out that the boy had somehow gotten Ryan to do his bidding, twenty-four/seven, and it made her stomach flip every time he tried to blackmail the teenager into something awful. Even if he was a year older than her, it was pretty clear that she had become a bit protective of him, especially as when she heard the way he seemed to emotionally abuse the kid when no one else was around.

“I-I did something really bad, Hayley,” he stuttered out, shaking so badly that she was surprised he didn’t bite off his tongue. Her heart stopped when he said her first name - they had operated on a strictly last name basis until that point.

“What’d you do, Ryan?” Her voice was cautious, gentle. She remembered, vaguely, that was the way to coax him to open up. And right now, that was all she wanted from him - to tell her what was wrong.

“J-Jon m-made me,” he swore, his eyes wild. His hands shook as he held up his phone, extending it to her with wide eyes. “I don’t kn-know how he got the pictures, I d-don’t, I sw-swear. He m-made me tell their families, Hayley. I d-didn’t want to, it’s wr-wrong. Th-They didn’t do any-anything.”

Hayley carefully pried his phone from his fingers, looking down at the screen. There, plain as day, she found pictures of Debby and Jenna with their lips locked together, their hands intertwined in the hallway of school, Debby with her hand up Jenna’s shirt, them by a lake, them on dates. Her stomach churned. The Ryans and the Blacks were very conservative and religious, and extremely homophobic. Debby’s family went to Ryan’s church, and Jenna’s went to Tyler and Jon’s. 

If they knew their daughters were gay - were dating  _ each other  _ \- they would… well, they wouldn’t take it well.

“Fuck, fuck, what did he… fuck, Ross, what the hell?” Hayley was about three seconds away from throwing on a jacket and running out the door, searching Debby and Jenna down herself. She may not talk to them anymore, but they had been two of her closest friends for years. The only thing stopping her (besides the fact that she didn’t think they would want to see her, really) was that there was a shaking teenager on the verge of tears sitting at her breakfast table.

“‘M sorry, Hayley,” he mumbled, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m sorry I fucked up so bad.” 

“What does he have over you, Ross,” she asked, shaking her head. Every inch of her was straining to storm out of her house, and scream at Jon Walker until her lungs gave out, kick him in the shins and punch him until he bled. She wouldn’t though, because Jon scared her a little. Something about him reminded her of her uncle - and not the good one.

“You don’t wanna know,” he whispered, gnawing on his lip. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Hayley crossed her arms, glancing out her window. She wondered if Debby and Jenna had been kicked out, she wondered where they went if they were. “I’m not the one you should apologize to,” she said finally, sitting on the floor by the counter. “That was… it was probably inexcusable, Ross.”

“I know,” he mumbled, pressing his face into his hands.

* * *

“Ryan,” she hissed, tapping on the window of his car. “Ryan Ross, you open this fucking car, right fucking now.” 

The window rolled down, and the older boy raised an eyebrow at her from the front seat. “What do you want, Williams,” he asked, not bothering to remove his hands from where they were attached to whatever girl he was currently dating. 

“It’s fucking cold, and I need a ride home,” she shivered, glaring daggers at the girl in his shotgun seat. The girl glared right back, sneering in a way that definitely said she thought that Hayley was a bitch. She was, but she didn’t need anyone else saying that. 

“I’m busy here.” The boy sounded very annoyed, but Hayley took a small, perverse amount of pleasure in being a cockblock. “Find someone else to take you, or walk, or something.”

Hayley frowned, setting her shoulders back. “You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a friend, loser,” she said, giving him huge puppy-dog eyes. “Please, man, it’s gonna snow.” 

“No way,” he huffed, rolling the window back up. Hayley rolled her eyes, turning away from the car and surveying the parking lot. She could see Debby and Jenna climbing into Ray’s car from where she stood, and had to resist the urge to chase them down and ask for a ride. They wouldn’t give her one, and even if they did, she wouldn’t deserve it. With a final glance at Ryan’s car, she squared her shoulders and walked towards the gates. 

With each step, she felt more and more terrified. A group of boys passed her, freshman, she was pretty sure, and she felt herself shrinking in. They weren’t going to hurt her, she was fine, she reminded herself, quickening her pace just a bit. Every time a car drove by or a pedestrian passed her, she went faster, until Hayley was running so quickly she nearly slipped on the sidewalk when she finally reached her house.

That night, she got what was probably the worst news of her life.

“Hayley, honey, come here,” her mother called, voice tight and serious. Hayley frowned, shifting her homework from her lap and wandering to the living room. Her mother stood in the middle of the room, worrying her lower lip between her teeth and staring at the wall. Her step-father rubbed her back, but his face was drawn tight, and he looked angry and upset. “Your uncle is… he’s got parole.”

Hayley felt her world fade to black.

* * *

 

“Where are you, Williams?” Ryan sounded worried, more worried than he maybe had a right to be. She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her. Her sights were set on the comic shop down the street. She would be fine.  _ Fine. _

“I’m out having a normal life, Ross,” she replied snappishly. “Trying to enjoy my birthday.” 

“You sure it’s safe?” he mumbled, and she could almost see the way he would glare at her. “Because, I mean. Jon could crop up somewhere, or your uncle. Not that I care about you - just using you because we both need friends.” 

Hayley huffed. She was regretting telling him about her uncle, but after her mother told her he was out, she grew terrified, even more paranoid than she already was, and figured that she might as well tell the closest thing she had to a friend. (If only because that way he could no longer turn down giving her rides. It was kind of hilarious to see the way he kicked his girlfriends out of his car when she asked him to.)

“I’ll be fine,” she snapped, hand on the cold metal of the door handle. She hung up before Ryan could reply, and slipped in the door.

To say her day took an interesting turn would be an understatement. Hayley didn’t think she’d ever been hugged more in her life. She was passed from friend to friend, hug to hug. Hayley tried not to notice the little things, like how Mikey seemed to be holding his arms awkwardly, how Spencer seemed skinny and scared, Brendon wasn’t as bubbly as he should have been, and how Lindsey and Ray almost cried like the parents that they are. She was relieved to see that Debby and Jenna were there, looking healthy and happy and no worse for the wear. 

Hayley had almost forgotten about Ryan until he texted her.

 

**Ross:** _ wlms wtf where r u?? _

**Ross:** _ did u get kidnapped _

 

“Who are you texting?” Patrick asked, frowning at her gently. Hayley winced, involuntarily glancing at Brendon, who was folded into Dallon’s arms and smiling tiredly. She didn’t want to tell him, to explain that she was almost-friends with the one person who had really and truly hurt the group. She didn’t deserve to be here, not really. Not when she was this kind of person.

Still, Hayley smiled weakly, shrugging her shoulders and sending Ryan a text to reassure him that she wasn’t dead and hadn’t been kidnapped by Jon or her uncle. “Just… a friend, sort of,” she shrugged, and was dragged into a conversation with Jamia and Sarah. For the first time in a long time, she felt at home. (She didn’t even notice the emptiness in her chest where Ryan should have been - she hadn’t noticed, but she had let the asshole become her best friend, and now she was losing him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next (Last) Chapter: Bob Bryar/All Characters


	17. Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll pray that one day you see  
> The only difference between life and dying  
> Is one is trying, that's all we're gonna to do  
> So try to love me and I'll try to save you.
> 
> (Lovely)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: small references to pretty much everything in this fic, so stay safe

Of all the people in all the world, there were few that Tyler disliked more than Bob Bryar, and all of the pain he put Frank and the others through.

Because even though, often enough, Frank used him as a cover-up for the abuse he received at home, he was still beating him up behind the gym. He was still throwing Patrick into the trash can. He was still shoving Brendon down the stairs “on accident” and stealing Tyler’s notebooks and making Mikey do his homework. He still spread rumors and lies, and made things so much harder, for no reason.

He spat hate at Tyler when he came out, led the bullying because of Blurryface. He snickered behind Frank’s back, muttering that he was just a girl in jeans, not a boy, never a boy. He told Pete to kill himself, told Andy the world would be better without him in it. He mumbled that Joe was going nowhere, was nothing. He pulled Hayley and Jamia and Sarah into closets and didn’t let them leave until they kissed him, laughing when this caused Hayley to have a panic attack alone in the dark. He called Debby and Jenna awful, awful things, convinced his friends to trip them up when they held hands in the hallway. 

Bob was not a good person. Not to Tyler.

His friends hurt so much at the hands of this guy, this stupid guy who made them all hate themselves more and more and more. 

He was determined to change that.

* * *

 

Tyler lifted his head from the notebook he was hunched over, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to ignore the image burned into his brain, the memory of Mikey’s arms lined in red. He underlined the words  _ shoot at me instead  _ three times, before pushing the book away, towards Josh.

“Guns for Hands?” Josh asked, raising an eyebrow. Tyler nodded stiffly, fingers working at the knots in his neck as he waited for his boyfriend - _ boyfriend,  _ it was probably his favorite word in conjunction with Josh’s name - to give his feedback. “This is good,” the other boy said finally, looking up. “This is really good - it’s for Mikey?”

“Yeah,” Tyler smiled softly, 

“Sing it for me,” Josh pressed, shoving the book back into Tyler’s hands. He tried to protest, but Josh began pouting, and he gave in.

* * *

 

“Bren, what’s this?” Dallon asked, settling on the couch beside the younger boy. Brendon leaned into his side, peering down at the paper the older boy held in his hands. He shrugged, raising his eyebrows at the words that covered the paper.

“Looks like a song,” he shrugged, smirking a little at Dallon’s ‘no shit’ look. “it’s pretty good, too.” 

“Yeah, but where’d it come from,” he tried again, raising his eyebrows. Brendon’s shrug was quick, nonchalant, but he made it clear that he had no idea. “Ode to Sleep…. Huh. I like the chorus. Catchy.”

* * *

Ray laughed a little as Tyler sung under his breath. “What are you singing?” he asked, eyebrows raised. 

Tyler blushed, singing Stressed Out a little louder before he cut himself off. “I wrote it for you,” he admitted sheepishly, turning to glance out the window of the small car. Ray’s smile grew wider, and he glanced over his shoulder at the small boy, his hands shifting a little on the steering wheel. 

“Sing it again,” he said, nodding towards the boy in the passenger seat. Tyler nodded slowly and started singing again, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the street.

* * *

 

Joe frowned at Andy, who was curled up around a piece of paper, a small smile on his face. “What’s that?” he asked, dropping onto the couch beside him. Andy held up a finger, skimming through the words on the page, and pointed to another sheet of paper on the table.

“Car Radio? This isn’t your handwriting,” Joe said, tilting his head. He spotted Tyler’s name in small letters under his own.

“Tyler wrote us songs,” Andy mumbled, a small smile on his face. Joe looked up, alarmed when he realized that Andy’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He reached out, pulling Andy’s song into his lap, and smiled at the words, pulling Andy closer to press a kiss to his cheek.

* * *

 

“Josh, Josh, I have something for you,” Tyler said, bouncing on his toes in front of his boyfriend. Josh looked up from his drumset, putting down his sticks and nodding for him to go ahead. 

Tyler opened his mouth, and began to sing, the words to March to the Sea spilling from his lips.

* * *

 

Lindsey raised her eyebrows at the small boy in front of her, holding sheets of paper out for her and Gerard. The (currently) blond boy shrugged at her, taking his song and grinning. “Thank you,” he said, smiling brightly at the kid in front of him. 

Lindsey smiled lightly at the words on her own page. “‘I used to say I wanna die before I’m old, but because of you I might think twice…’ oh wow, Tyler, this is really good,” she said softly, scanning the messy scrawl quickly.

* * *

 

Jenna jumped, raising her eyebrows at the song that was playing from her car’s radio. “What the-” she mumbled, when she saw that there was a CD in the player. She ejected it, glancing at Debby from under her blonde hair, and nearly gasped at the words written in permanent marker across the disk.

“What is it?” Debby asked, peering over her girlfriend’s shoulder in curiousity.

_ Tear in My Heart; by TyJo, for Debby and Jen _

* * *

 

Josh wrapped his arms around Tyler, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Come to bed, baby,” he pleaded, hands covering his as he worked played his keyboard. Tyler shook his head, stopping just long enough to jot something down in his songbook before his returned to the keys. 

“Gotta finish Truce,” he insisted, biting his lip as he tried something that Josh couldn’t hear through his headphones.

“Pete will love it, baby, but he’ll love it even more if you work on it while you’re actually well rested,” Josh assured him, reaching over to switch off the keyboard. Tyler sighed, pulling his headphones off and turning to the older boy with a small smile.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

 

Hayley stared at Tyler in shock as he shifted in front of her, clearly concerned by her lack of response. “You… you wrote that for me? What’d you say it was called?” she asked softly, tilting her head a little. Tyler shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. 

“Yeah, Before You Start Your Day. It’s just a little thing, nothing special,” he replied, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

“Why?” Her voice broke a little on the word, and she cleared her throat, blinking a couple of stray tears out of her eyes.

“Because you’re my friend, Hayley,” he shrugged, and suddenly she launched herself at him in a hug that was so tight, he couldn’t breathe.

* * *

 

“This is basically my life, Ty, what the hell?” Brendon asked incredulously. He looked up at Tyler, eyes shining. Tyler shrugged, shaking his head as the younger boy tried to hand him the sheet of lyrics.

“Keep it,” he said, smiling softly. “I wrote it for you.”

* * *

 

**PeterPan:** _ OMG trick go watch this video rn _

**PeterPan:** _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NK7WWbXlkj4_

Patrick raised his eyebrows, following the link to a video of Tyler singing a song he had never heard before. It was catchy, relatable even, but he didn’t get why Pete had sent him to it, when he could have just heard it from Tyler later on. That is, until he got to the end of the video, where “For Patrick” scrolled across the screen. A small smile broke out on his face. 

\----

“Why’re we here, Ty?” Jenna asked, looking around at her friends who were gathered in Pete’s parents’ basement. “Do Pete’s parents know we’re here?”

Tyler nodded, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah, they’re cool with it. This just, um, seemed like the right place to do this,” he shrugged, nodding at Josh. The red-haired boy nodded quickly, and pressed a button on Tyler’s laptop, which immediately began to play music.

_ “You say things with your mouth, cobwebs and flies come out…”  _ he sang, glaring at a picture of Bob that no one had noticed was on the wall. He poured his heart out, and when it came to the chorus, he locked eyes with each of his friends, smiling softly at them.  _ “I will make you believe you are lovely.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends this epic multichap thing... the second multichap I've actually finished. *sniffs* I'm so proud of myself.  
>  **Please note: This is not the end of this 'verse!!!!**
> 
> I have a lot of things planned, including a multichap revolving around Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon, a Jalex onshot, some fluffy things about several people, and, of couse, lots of angsty sad shit. I also have a couple of projects I'm working on unrelated to this (A Peterick AU, a _very_ involved multi-ship multichap fluffy angsty thing, and a couple of Harry Potter nextgen and Marauder's Era one-shots) so updates to this verse might be less frequent than they have been.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I love you!


End file.
